


The Bluebird's Flight

by a_simple_rainbow



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 193,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_simple_rainbow/pseuds/a_simple_rainbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's on a train to New York. He's depressed, listless, alone in the world and one sad song away from a pathetic video clip moment. But things could apparently get worse: when the train becomes mysteriously empty, stops and leaves him stranded in an unfamiliar middle of nowhere. Kurt finds himself in a world with wizards and healers, and all sorts of bizarre things, but most of all where people tell him he's the Crown Prince everyone's been waiting for - prophesied to end the horrors of tyranny they've been living for the last 18 years. The only thing he wants is to go back home, but no one has a clue how to do that, and it doesn't get any easier when he finds himself wanting to help, and a little bit in love. </p><p>(warnings include secondary character deaths, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Last Train Station

It’s raining and Kurt’s staring out a train window, trees speeding past as the city becomes long gone. With the side of his forehead pressed against the cold glass and his breath fogging up a small circle next to his mouth and nose, he’s one sad song away from a depressing, clichéd music video.

This is not how he’d expected to leave Lima, and definitely not how he’d expected to go to New York.

First of all, he’d always imagined taking a plane instead of a train. Secondly, he had expected it to happen after high school, not in the middle of his senior year. Third, he’d always thought he would be moving in to a dorm room, or at the very most a crappy shared apartment in a shady neighborhood. He had definitely not been anticipating his great-aunt’s cramped home in Brooklyn.

But, most importantly, he had never once considered leaving behind nothing but a house filled only with lingering smells that awaken too many memories all at once. He would have left behind a brand new grave too, showered with beautiful, awe-inspiring flowers, but his father had wanted to be cremated ( _the thought of being a rotting corpse gives me the creeps, kid… and I never liked worms anyway!_ ), and the ashes had been thrown at the same place as his mother’s. Kurt knew it had nothing to do with worms, though, and everything to do with his dad not wanting him to feel tied down to Lima in any way - not even a grave to visit.

He keeps a single white rose in his pocket and his dad’s favorite baseball cap in his hands.

A barely eighteen year old orphan with too many dreams to drop out of high school – that’s not how Kurt had ever imagined leaving Lima behind and moving to New York. That’s not even how he imagined _seeing_ New York for the first time.

The great-aunt is news to him, too. Well, sure, he’d heard her name a couple of times before, but he’d never met her. Besides, she’s old. Like… drop-dead-at-any-moment old. Kurt sighs, trying not to cry for the millionth time that day (that week, that month). Just his luck.

He’s so distracted staring out the window trying to decide which song would sound the most depressing if this were a video clip or a movie scene (maybe the opening credits to a Nicholas Sparks movie, which he’d really rather do without at the moment), that he doesn’t even notice the way the lights flicker for a moment, or how the carriage just became empty. It’s not like a magic trick where, with a small pop, everyone just vanished; it’s not like Harry Potter where they _disapparate_ and it’s supposed to be loud; and it’s certainly not like they all just decided to stand up and leave. No. One minute they were there, and the other they just weren’t, and it was as if they never had been. As if they had been a moment of imagination while one pondered what that train would’ve looked like with people inside it. A memory one wasn’t quite sure was real or not.

But Kurt doesn’t notice that. He just stares out the window. Which is why he does notice when the train slows down, down, down… down. Down. And then, with a few lurches and breaks screeching, halts to a stop. The engine dies.

Kurt frowns, tries to look further ahead out the window but only manages to crash his head against the glass.

“Ow!” he gasps and rubs his finger against the abused area. Finally he takes his eyes off the outside, which is still pretty much just grass and trees and not at all New York, and looks around himself. He finally notices his complete and absolute solitude. “Hello?!” he calls out, “This was supposed to be a direct train?” No answer, “Hello? Why are we stopping?!”

His heart is suddenly hammering – he can feel the blood rushing through his temples, even through his neck. At any moment now a crazy man with a machine gun is going to show up, Kurt can feel it. That’s just how his life works, from one horror to another. From a dead mother, to a friendless childhood, to a bullied teenage-hood, to a dead father, to, finally, his own death by Machine Gun Lunatic.

Every single door opens as he stands to look through the inter-carriage door. A cold gush of wind comes from the outside, but it’s not raining anymore. He grabs his coat, and then his bag too, on second thought. He hikes it over one shoulder and tries not to stumble with the excessive weight. He hesitates before moving, trying to decide if he should check the outside.

Is Machine Gun Lunatic outside or inside? Were Kurt to poke his head out, would he see him? Would he shoot Kurt right between the eyes?

Kurt walks carefully towards the doors, ignoring the growing headache as he tries his very best to listen to anything and everything, but there’s no sound behind the gushing wind. He glances at whatever he can see from the other carriage as he walks by its door – through the glass and half-closed curtains he only sees more empty seats. He also sees his reflection, pale with fear. He grasps a little tighter around the worn fabric of his dad’s baseball cap.

His chest is probably about to burst when he lets a shaky hand rest against the metal edge of an open door and leans, inch by inch outside – head pounding with equal parts fear and adrenaline. An empty field of tall grass and trees that slowly thicken into woods is all that Kurt is presented with. No one in sight. It’s barely enough to make Kurt sigh with relief.

Out of nowhere comes a noise. Something touches his calf.

He screams and jumps, turns around and barely even registers that there is no one to be seen before he looses his footing and falls right through the door. His back crashes against almost hard ground as nothing but knee-high grass and the crunch of a too-full bag break his fall.

He can’t breathe as he scrambles to sit up, frenetically disentangling himself from his bag, and only manages to catch the blur of _something_ small and brown jumping off the train right after him. He’s about to make his best attempt at getting up and starting to run, but he stops dead on his tracks as the train doors slide shut with a thundering crash. “What?” Kurt gasps, pushing himself to his feet, just as the engine comes alive again “What?! No!” the train starts to move, inch by inch, lurching back into a speedy departure, as Kurt just stands there and watches, his mind not fast enough to catch up “No – what! WAIT! NO!” He finally breaks out of his stupor, but as he reaches the already fast-moving train he can’t even grab on, or touch it, for fear it might rip his arm off “NO! FUCK! COME BACK!”

He screams for too long. His voice hoarse when he finally gives up.

He watches in horror as the train leaves, disappearing into dense trees in a matter of seconds, or maybe hours. Kurt doesn’t know. His head is rushing – there’s too much blood. He feels heavy and light-headed at the same time. Mostly, he feels dizzy and terrified.

“No…” he mumbles, as he can’t even hear the train’s rumble anymore.

There’s rustling in the grass behind him and something touches his leg _again_. He screams (he wouldn’t be proud of how high-pitched it comes out, but at the moment he doesn’t care, or even notice it), and this time he doesn’t topple off a train. He just turns around and looks at his feet where he finds a maroon cat circling his legs.

“Oh my god!” He breathes with relief.

The cat looks at him and meows, before leaning closer and sniffing his boot and meowing again, pushing his little head against it and purring. For as scared as Kurt is, perhaps focusing his energy on a cute cat would calm his nerves and it is, at least, something he can do; while the same can’t be said for trying to figure out exactly what just happened and in what part of Nowhere, Ohio he currently is.

That’s when it happens – just as Kurt bends down to run his fingers through the cat’s fur – there’s a loud bang. Like, a _loud_ bang. Nowhere near like the time he was sleeping and his next-door neighbor shot at what he thought was a burglar, but was actually just a stray dog trying to eat his flowerbeds. Not even like when he was waiting for his dad at the grocery shop, five years ago, and a bus crashed right into a jeep not ten yards from Kurt.

This type of loud was akin to what you’d imagine a whole building exploding would sound like.

Kurt doesn’t even think before he’s on the ground – half throwing himself, half falling. He should be lying on top of train tracks but he’s not and the thought makes him freeze. Where did the train tracks go? He scrambles through the ground, his head pounding more painfully every second, and he still can’t find the damn tracks anywhere. The cat is also nowhere to be seen, either.

There’s another explosion, just barely smaller. He flinches before he looks up to find a cloud of black smoke rising against the darkening sky about a mile away, from within the trees.

Kurt scrambles towards his bag and coat, keeping himself near the ground. He thrusts his hand inside a pocket and takes out his cell phone. “911” he mutters under his breath over and over again as he slides his finger through the screen several times without any sort of response. “Come on!” Kurt groans.

Figures. Running out of battery at a time like this.

He’d feel angrier about it if his head wasn’t killing him right now. Like, seriously killing him.

The headache had quickly escalated to a migraine, pounding with every beat of his heart, and was now becoming pure torture. He's never felt anything like this in his life. With a third crash he can’t help but scream and clutch his head, sweat beading around his temples as he trembles in pain. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, please make it stop.” Everything around him starts to spin “Please make it stop!”

It does stop.

And then everything is black.

 


	2. Machine Gun Lunatics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: graphic descriptions of deathly violence

He wakes up to something heavy falling on top of him. He grunts and opens his eyes but he can barely see anything – it’s dark, it’s practically pitch black now, and all he can make out is dirty white fabric as the heavy something – a person, definitely a person – scrambles to their feet and takes off running without even looking behind.

Kurt’s head is back to migraine, which is better, but still bad, and if the darkness enveloping him is anything to go by he’s been out cold for hours. He tries to make out the person that had fallen on top of him but they’re already so far away he can only tell they were wearing white – maybe a tunic? – it definitely didn’t look very stylish.

He can smell smoke and remembers the sound of explosions. The smell is so strong it makes him feel sick – no, it makes him sick – he gets about a moment’s warning before he’s emptying his stomach’s content on damp, cool grass. It makes his eyes water and his head hurt worse. He looks to his other side and finds his bag still there. He’s about to check if it has everything when the sound of running footsteps startles him. He looks up to find two people, hand in hand, dressed in white tunics – cloths?, definitely not _real_ clothes…– running desperately. As they sprint past him, in the weak moonlight he thinks there are tears on their faces.

“What the hell is happening?” he mumbles to himself. More and more he can make them out now – running in every direction, some alone, some in pairs, or even trios, there are dozens of people running, all coming from the red-lit, smoking area in the middle of the woods. He considers if he should stand, but figures probably not. That is until a hysterically sobbing woman comes sprinting towards him, and she’s not running as fast as she can because she’s crying way too hard to catch a good breath.

“Do you need help?!” Kurt asks at once, standing as she comes to within a yard of him. She falters in her steps, looks at him confused.

“What’re you doing?!” she gasps, her dark eyes wild with tears and terror. “Run!”

“What?”

She doesn’t get to respond before there’s a bang (like the one when his neighbor confused the dog for a burglar) and she’s crashing to the ground, thick dark blood trailing down her temple, black in the moonlight.

“OH my god!” Kurt gasps jumping at least four feet back and scrambling to the ground. Machine Gun Lunatic. Machine Gun Lunatic. Machine Gun Lunatic.

There’s heavy footsteps – it’s a jog, not a sprint. It’s from boots, not bare-feet. Kurt’s blood is cold and rushing through his body like it’s trying to make up for all the trips it’s never going to make again. He finds his cell phone on the ground and tries to get it to turn on –for some reason still believing 911 might miraculously help him get away from Machine Gun Lunatic.

It doesn’t work and then a man is towering over him. In the moonlight he figures Machine Gun Lunatic is wearing dark green, like someone in the military, but he can’t be sure. What he is sure is he _is_ holding a gun. Not a machine gun, but still a gun. And it’s pointed at Kurt.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he gasps as he looks down the barrel of the gun. “Please, don’t kill me, please don’t kill me!”

The man smirks, but then he goes very, very still, and there’s a dark small hole in the middle of his forehead and, in a matter of seconds, he’s sprawled face first on the ground.

Kurt tries to stand to see who saved him but the moment his eyes so much as peek through the tall grass he can see a platoon of Machine Gun Lunatics marching through the fields. Scared shitless and not entirely resigned to death Kurt grabs the gun from the unconscious (dead) man, and, sighing to himself, thinking it’s probably a bad idea, he grabs his too-expensive-to-leave-behind bag and takes off, dragging himself through grass, weeds, earth and even mud – if it’s pools of water or blood he doesn’t know and certainly doesn’t _want_ to know. He crawls in the opposite direction of everyone else, because the way he figures is that dangerous men have all probably left the explosion site.

He stands once he finds a tree and pushes his back against it to take long drags of breath.

Someone crashes against him, and his bag flies to the ground, finally caving in to the experiences it wasn’t designed to endure and spilling its contents everywhere. Kurt’s laptop. Kurt’s sketchbooks, his iPod, his glasses, his favorite sweater, and, ridiculously enough, his blow drier that he forgot to pack with most of everything else he sent through the moving company.

The man frowns confused, halting in his sprint. He’s not dressed in a white cloth, but he doesn’t exactly look like one of the Machine Gun Lunatics, either.

He looks around them, at the objects on the ground, and then at Kurt, eyes running him up and down, but not even in a dirty way, or a cruel way – just looking, taking him in and frowning further. Kurt shakily holds the gun in self-defense, only to find he no longer has a gun. It’s on the ground, five feet away. He must’ve dropped it on impact.

The man takes in his terrified state and watches him closer. Another man hurries by, but the first one calls out “Dave!” in a strong bellowing voice. And Kurt wants to run and hide, but can’t. He’s rooted to the spot in fear.

 _Dave_ halts in his running “What’re you doing?! Come on! Most guards are gone!”

“Look at’im.”

“What about him?” Dave says with a glance and shrug.

“Look at his stuff, look at _him_ …!”

Dave eyes his friend carefully before sighing and stepping closer to Kurt – the occasional sprinting passer-by not even fazing them. Kurt tries to look the least bit defiant, even if he’s three seconds away from crumpling with fear. When their eyes meet it takes all of Kurt not to look away at once, and he doesn’t. The man looks predatory, but not exactly in a sexual way. In a way that Kurt actually feels like an honest to god _prey_.

“What’s that?” Dave asks, giving Kurt an excuse to finally look away. He has to ask again, looking at Kurt and pointing at his laptop “What’s _that_?”

“M-my computer…?” All of his videos… all of his photographs… All of his photographs with his dad. Gone.

“Was that a question?” The man sniggers “What’s it for?”

“W-what?” Kurt asks, voice barely audible.

“I asked what is it for. The compuder.”

“What-what do you mean what is it f-for?”

“What do you mean what do I mean what is it for?”

Kurt stares at the man. There isn’t a hint of a joke in him anymore. Kurt’s eyes follow his arm until he finds him clutching a knife. The other man too. He swallows thickly, looking at the ground as he speaks “I use it f-for school and-and stuff,” his eyes find his blow dryer right at his feet. Maybe.

“For school? Alright- but…”

“What’s that? The black thing?” The other man interrupts, already stepping closer to the blow dryer, probably noticing Kurt’s attention, but Kurt, somehow, moves miraculously faster. He dives for it and grabs it, holding it at arm’s length, pointed at their chests.

“It’s-it’s a gun.” He takes a deep breath – they’re not going to believe him if he looks this scared. He steels himself, “It shoots two bullets at a time. Walk away.”

“Liar.” Dave drawls out stepping closer.

Kurt gives him his best glare and points the blow dryer at the man’s chest “Wanna try me out?”

“Come on Dave, let’s go.”

“What?! No! I’m not going! That’s – he’s-“

“I know!” The man who’s not Dave says with a meaningful glare “I know! Which is exactly why he’s probably _not_ lying.”

Kurt could cry, for all that he doesn’t understand about that conversation, he definitely understands that the man actually believes his blow dryer to be a gun “Go away.” The two men start towards where Kurt had been going “The other way!”

They stop, a mere hesitation before shuffling around and sprinting away.

Kurt watches them leave until he can’t see them anymore and then, not wasting time to sob with relief he grabs the actual gun he’d dropped and his laptop and runs away, blow dryer in one hand, laptop and gun in other.

Just his luck, his train stopping near some random evil Amish village blowing up. Is this The Village? Kurt hated that movie.

The smell of smoke is getting thicker and thicker. His eyes burn slightly, and his breaths aren’t enough to keep him sprinting any more. Kurt’s mind reeling, he decides that the people in the white cloths are harmless, the Machine Gun Lunatics are enemies and… everyone else is probably dangerous too.

He doesn’t even see the end of the woods before he’s sprinting right out into a clear field. Only it isn’t a clear field. It’s obscure with smoke, but lit with burning buildings, and a spinning bright, white light on top of some sort of control tower. There’s a fence around the whole scene, but it’s destroyed and ripped open in so many places it barely exists anymore. There are body-to-body combats happening everywhere, and shots are fired every two seconds, bodies hitting the ground too often. Kurt stands there, stupidly watching the whole thing, his brain in a complete and utter freeze.

There’s a small child in a white cloth, sobbing and clutching her leg, hidden partially by a crumbled wall. Kurt watches in horror as a man dressed all in black starts sprinting towards her, gun in hand.

Before Kurt can even think about it he’s taking off towards the man, tackling him to the ground, not five feet away from the child. They both crash with loud huffs and then the man is so fast that Kurt doesn’t even have time to think about how much the fall has hurt, before he’s pinned to the ground, gun pointed at his chest, gasping for breath.

In his last minute panic, Kurt barely manages to take his eyes off the gun to look into the face of his killer, bright, near-blinding white light flooding them fleetingly, but once he does the man’s eyes widen and he looks completely taken aback. Kurt takes the opportunity for another one of his miraculous quick-action moments (maybe he does have a pretty good survival instinct – how else could he have survived high school in Lima?) and pushes the man off himself, scrambles to pin him to the ground and point _his_ gun at the man’s chest, but he fumbles with it and in the time it takes for him to drop the fucking thing (he’s going to resort to the blow dryer again) the man looks to his side, gasps and almost effortlessly rolls them back (“GET DOWN!” Kurt thinks the man just yelled), this time completely covering Kurt’s body with his own. There’s a loud explosion and he can feel their bodies being thrown across the ground with the impact.

Kurt’s pretty sure he’s about to pass out again – his ears are ringing and he can’t hear a thing. The man is scrambling next to him. Grabs his face – is he going to break Kurt’s neck? – and his lips are moving, he’s saying something, but Kurt doesn’t know what he’s saying, so he just looks back at him, wide eyes, terrified, pleading “Please don’t kill me!” and tries his best at crawling away. There’s a shot fired – Kurt can hear again now. The man ducked his head and Kurt thinks he could see the bullet wheezing right past his head, which is ridiculous. Suddenly the man’s scrambling towards him again, shielding Kurt with his own body again.

“Are you alright?!” he hears and oh, that was the man, he’s grabbing Kurt’s face again (another shot, another duck). “Are you alright?!”

“Y-yeah.”

“Can you-“ shot “fuck – can you stand?”

“I… think so!”

“Let’s- SHIT!” There’s another shot and this time there’s the distinct sound of the bullet hitting something completely different than the wall or the ground. The man squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them again and looks right at Kurt’s. The man’s eyes are hazel, almost golden as they’re suddenly flooded with the bright, white light from the control tower again, “Please, come with me if you want to live.” He says before grabbing a knife from his belt and throwing it, and Kurt looks around to find a Machine Gun Lunatic collapsing to his knees with a knife carved right through his neck. “NOW!”

The man springs to his feet (Kurt thinks he can see him falter and gasp when he does and finds a glittering wetness trailing down the man’s leg – when the spotlight finds them again, for another couple of seconds, it shines bright red) and all but hauls Kurt up. He doesn’t wait a second before ducking back down, grabbing one of their dropped guns and shooting more incoming Machine Gun Lunatics. Kurt tries not to look completely pathetic standing there as the guy moves like he knows what he's doing. “Here!” he throws Kurt a gun and Kurt fumbles trying to catch it – not that the man would notice, as he’s currently diving for the kid again, looping an arm around her waist and hauling her over his shoulders. “Come on!”

Kurt suddenly feels stupid – he didn’t know he could feel anything else at this point, from how confused and scared he already was to start with, but apparently he can – because the man had been going to save the kid, not harm her, and now she’s unconscious, maybe dead, and it’s probably his fault for stopping her savior. Kurt follows the man as he sprints, mostly behind walls, ducking when he does and stopping when he stops.

They pause behind a burning building that looks, otherwise, relatively calm. The sounds of battle are still all around them, though, and Kurt has never experienced this much heat in his life. The man takes a deep breath, looks around himself and gently puts the kid down, taking two fingers to her throat.

“Is she okay?” Kurt asks feebly. The man looks up at him but doesn’t say anything, so Kurt tries not to cry, “I thought you were going to kill her. That’s why… I thought…”

The man’s eyes soften and he smiles feebly, “She’s alive. Just unconscious. She has a pulse.”

“Oh…! Thank god!” Kurt gasps, “I…”

“I’m Blaine,” the man offers.

“I’m… I’m Kurt,” Blaine smiles – actually smiles – and breathes, “It’s very nice to meet you, Kurt.”

“Oh, huh, I… I guess it’s nice to meet you too. And, huh, thanks, for, like, saving my life…?”

Blaine huffs a laugh and just nods. “Look, Kurt, you see that light over there?” Blaine points up to a hill on their right. There’s a white glowing light peeking through the trees on top of the hill. “We need to get there.”

“Okay…”

“And if I get… huh, held up, I need you to go there. No matter what, okay?”

Why did this man want him to go there so desperately? Was this a trap? Was he setting Kurt up to where he’d have more of his men, so that maybe one of them would actually know what a fucking blow dryer was?!

“I’m not – I’m not tricking you, Kurt,” Blaine says, suddenly.

“How did you-“

Blaine laughs again, “Written all over your face,” he says, but his tone is friendly, not mocking, “I need you to trust me on this, Kurt, we don’t have much time.”

“Why?”

“For one, this place is about to blow,” Blaine says, already scooping up the small girl into his arms again “And als-“

“Blaine!” Kurt sees the Machine Gun Lunatic before _he_ even notices the three of them and raises his gun. Kurt tries to push Blaine out of the way, but – there’s a look of frantic panic on Blaine’s face – Blaine struggles against him, trying to get Kurt to drop to the floor, and misses his own opportunity to do so. Kurt almost hears the dull thud of the bullet hitting Blaine more than he hears the shot being fired. He can’t exactly tell where he was hit, but Blaine’s gasping in pain and tumbling forward and Kurt just knows that Machine Gun Lunatic is getting ready to do it again so he takes the gun he’s probably not even holding right and shoots blindly. He misses, of course, but it’s enough to get the machine gun guy to recoil and then, before Kurt even sees him moving Blaine has scrambled to his knees and shoots the man right through the chest.

“Come on!” Blaine groans, pulling Kurt up, picking up the girl and taking off running, shielding her with his body as bullets fly towards them – luckily none hit.

Running up the hill Blaine’s tripping more than running, gasping for air. Kurt’s right behind him when he practically collapses to the ground, breathing hard and coughing.

Blaine’s back catches the light from another explosion and Kurt can see the pool of blood forming there. Kurt surges forward, putting a hand on Blaine’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…!” he pants, and Kurt thinks he can see crimson on his lips and chin.

“Let me take her from here.” Kurt offers.

“I can-“

“Let me take her.” Kurt says, voice so firm it surprises even himself. Blaine looks at him with wide eyes, and Kurt notices for the first time that this is not a man – this is just a boy, probably about as old as Kurt. And this boy knows he’s coughing up blood. He knows he has a bullet somewhere dangerous. And he’s scared.

“Thank you.” He breathes as Kurt takes the girl from his arms and holds her, finding her surprisingly light. Blaine pushes himself to his feet, looking terribly pale, and the contrast between his skin and the few dots of red on his lips and chin is frightening.

“Let’s go.” Kurt nods.

There are voices and Kurt sees more people dressed in all black from afar. He looks back at Blaine, who’s falling behind and Kurt goes back and tries to get his arm across his waist but Blaine shakes his head and mumbles “Get-get her to them and then go to the-to the light.”

“No, I’m not leaving you here like this! Come on! It’s just a little more! Come on, Blaine.”

Blaine smiles and shakes his head “You go.”

“No I-“

“You go. I’m replaceable. You’re not. Go. Please.”

“What’re you even talk-“

There’s an explosion and Kurt almost topples back down the hill with the force of it. It’s the biggest yet and he looks to find every single building on fire. From up here it looks like some sort of facility with several blocks of sturdy buildings, and rows upon rows of smaller buildings after those – like a university campus and its dorms, or a hospital with separate wings and infirmaries, or even a prison,… or a… or a… fuck. Kurt swallows thickly as he thinks of his history schoolbooks and the photographs illustrating them.

“Told you it would blow up.” Blaine’s weak voice brings him back to the present.

“Is that a concen- is that a _concentration_ camp?!”

“Was.” Blaine corrects him with a grin, a pretty lifeless grin, but a grin nonetheless, and then he looks back and he grins wider, and points, “Look, Kurt, we did it… shit… we fucking did it.”

Kurt frowns, and squints trying to find whatever it is that’s making Blaine so happy, even as he bleeds out. He finds a blue flag flying from the burning control tower, as black figures slip down, dangling from ropes.

“We fucking did it!” Blaine breathes again, only to give into a cough, and another, and he’s sputtering blood all over.

“Shit, fuck, Blaine!” Kurt gasps. “Come on!” he urges, lacing an arm around Blaine’s waist and pulls him up.

“No…! Kurt, you go! Please…” Blaine protests, but his voice is weak and his eyes are drooping.

“No, no, no, no – HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! Shitshitshitshit!” He lets Blaine’s body fall to the ground and he yanks his own coat off his shoulders, pressing it tightly against Blaine’s wound, “Put pressure on the wound – HELP! PLEASE! HELP! – put pressure on the wound, put pressure on the wound – HELP! HE’S DYING!”

A big man comes sprinting down the hill towards the sound of Kurt’s desperate screams “Hang on, hang on! I’m coming, who’re y-BLAINE?!” The man doesn’t even look twice at Kurt before he’s taking Blaine into his own arms and sprinting back up the hill “GUYS! I NEED HANDS OVER HERE! EMMA! I NEED EMMA!”

Kurt all but scrambles back to his feet, grunting at the weight of the still unconscious girl, and hurrying after the man who has Blaine and is carrying him towards the light – and how ironic is that?

The _light_ turns out of be a blinding wall of… well… of light. Kurt considers, strangely for the first time, that he might be dreaming. “What’s that?!” he gasps, not particularly to anyone, although he’s suddenly surrounded by a sea of people dressed in black, like Blaine, running around fussing over too many things for Kurt to even begin to understand what’s happening.

A tall, slim girl with blonde hair tied into a tight knot and a nasty cut on her forehead, which is bleeding onto a breathtaking face, stops right in front of him, “Who’re you?”

“What’s that?” Kurt asks in return, completely forgetting the child in his hands.

She looks at him through squinted eyes, “A portal,” she says slowly.

“A p- A portal?” Kurt gasps.

“Yes. Who’re you?”

“There are no such things as portals.”

“That thing over there begs to differ. Who are you?”

“What do you mean a portal?!”

“It’s a portal! It’s just a portal! A fucking normal portal! You step through it and you’re somewhere else. Like in any other portal! Who. Are. You?”

“There are n-“

“Listen!” she says and suddenly there’s a knife digging into his throat and she’s leaning close, locking eyes, “Blaine’s practically dead and he was with you and I’m not asking you again wh-Oh dear gods!” She steps away at once and Kurt’s looking around himself trying to figure out what it was that got her to stop, but besides the dozens of people running around there’s no one or nothing _new_.

“What?”

“Get through that portal, NOW!” she takes his arm and starts pulling him towards the light.

“Hey, what the hell! Get off me!” he yanks his arm away, “Blaine told me to give this girl to you guys, but I’m not so-“

“TINA!” The girl calls and a shorter girl with Asian features that had been leaning against a tall lean Asian man approaches, wiping tears off her face.

“Yeah?” she says feebly.

“Get your mind off it.” the blonde girl says, her voice suddenly a lot softer than when she spoke to Kurt, “Here, get busy with this girl… there’s no point agonizing over it. I’m sure Emma’s already doing all she can.”

“Yeah, I just…” Tina sighs and turns to Kurt, “Mike!” she calls calmly over her shoulder, but he comes anyway, “Come help me with this little girl.”

Mike – Kurt noticing that, for as tall as he was he was also still quite young, gave Kurt a nod and a small smile before taking the small girl off his arms and into his own, Tina following him into a feebler, flickering golden light Kurt hadn’t noticed, hidden between trees. “We’ll be right back.” Mike said shortly to the blonde girl, over his shoulder.

She watches them leave before grabbing Kurt’s arm again. “Come on.”

“Where are you even taking me?!” Kurt gasps, wishing he still had his blow dryer with him at the very least.

“The headquarters!” she says like it’s obvious and urges him.

“Headquarters?” he asks but she completely ignores him, pulling him along and then, suddenly, there’s a lot of cold, like he’d stepped through a curtain of pure and unforgiving ice, and there’s a funny feeling in his stomach – like when he’s on a roller coaster and it feels like his internal organs are all gone – but it’s only a second and as abruptly as it started it stops, and then he’s stepping into a pitch black night, no burning buildings to illuminate more than the moonlight and feeling dangerously queasy. With barely more than two seconds notice, he’s doubling over and retching, even though there’s absolutely nothing in his stomach for him to throw up. The girl waits next to him, tapping her foot and he wants to remind her that impatience never made anyone better any faster. It stops eventually, and he takes a few deep breaths before he lets her grasp his arm again and haul him up.

He shivers, both from the puking and the cold suddenly enveloping him, as he’s standing there in his thin shirt without any burning buildings to serve as a fireplace. Right. He probably shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that he’d given his favorite Marc Jacobs coat away to stop a bleeding. And… the honest to god truth is – and this actually surprises Kurt a lot – he’s really not. It’s a fleeting thought, sure, but nothing beyond that. He finds he doesn’t actually care about his coat, for the first time in his life.

Not when he’s surrounded by crazy everywhere he looks. And certainly not if it was ruined on a guy who saved his life.

It’s pitch black, except for the full moon shining brightly over his surroundings, and he realizes they’re heading towards a house in the middle of a field, - actually, in the middle of what looks like it might be a valley, the sort of valley that doesn’t really exist in Ohio. The sort of valley that only really exists in Disney movies, Ireland or Lord of the Rings.

The house looks about three stories high, and large. It says “Bluebird’s Inn” right above the open front door. From inside spills golden, warm light and harried voices.

He feels the girl tugging at his elbow, and notices he’d stopped walking. Someone behind them practically crashes against them, sprinting by toward the open front door. Kurt can’t tell much beyond tall, big and blond as the man dashes past them. “ _Come on_!” She tugs harder and Kurt thinks that he might as well. It’s not like his survival chances are much better out on the wilderness.

They go through the front door and there’s a mess inside. The tall, big and blond guy is fighting against the man that had taken Blaine from Kurt’s arms.

“Let me see him! Puck, let go of me! LET ME SEE HIM!”

“Dude!” The man – Puck – pushes back, “You’re not going to help in there, Sam! You’ll just get in the way!”

“I need to be there!”

“Don’t make me punch you!”

“PUCK!” Sam pushes against Puck’s shoulders, but Puck is quick at blocking his attack and both Kurt and the blonde girl with him gasp as Sam crashes against a wall, his arm pinned to his back as Puck presses against it, “Let me go!” Sam’s anger seems to dissolve into something completely different and his face crumbles, “Just… please… please…”

“Hey, hey…” Puck sighs, loosening his grip and looks around, sighing when his eyes land on the blonde girl escorting Kurt, “Get Mercedes, babe. She’s downstairs with Santana.”

“I… just… is Will in there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I think… well… I just…” She seems a little confused and stressed, “I think… I think Blaine saw it, too. I, hum,… the _bird_ , Noah.”

“The bluebird?” He frowns, gasping, and then turning to look at Kurt, comprehension dawning on his face, before looking back at her. Even Sam has stopped struggling and begging and just looks at Kurt.

“The bluebird.” She nods.

Kurt’s just standing there, looking between the three of them and seriously considering if he’d just landed himself in some psychiatric hospice, because why are they looking at him and taking about _birds_? He’s been called a lot of things, but _bluebird_?

“Go get Will!” Puck breathes, ending the long silence and the girl just nods fiercely before sprinting to a door. Kurt gets a glimpse of bodies moving around, fast and stressful, but then there’s a man leaving the room before Kurt can even think of turning around and sprinting out of the house. And finally it’s someone who doesn’t look like he should be in college or even high school. He’s either well into his thirties, or early forties; and he’s not wearing black: instead his white cotton shirt is stained a horrifying shade of red, and his brown slacks are equally darkened in places.

“Quinn, you can’t just –Oh!” he cuts himself off as soon he looks at Kurt, and seriously, does he have something on his face?!

There’s a long pause when everyone just stares at Kurt. He sighs.

“I would really appreciate it if anyone could tell me what the hell is going on and please, _please_ can I get an aspirin?!”

They look at him like he’s just announced he was Jesus – but then again, they were looking at him like that before, so…

Will is going to say something but then the front door bursts open and Tina’s coming inside with a humongous man leaning heavily on her, his leg leaving a trail of blood behind them. “Help!” she squeaks. The man – the _boy_ – is pale and his eyes look just about ready to fall shut.

At once everyone’s moving.

“FINN!” Puck jumps, and suddenly the roles are reversed as Sam holds the bigger man back, using the exact same arguments, his own eyes wide with fear, as he watches Finn topple forward barely supported by Will and Tina.

“Get him to his room!” Will grunts, and then there’s a shriek.

“FINN!” a female voice calls out, “FINN! Oh no! No! No!”

“Quinn!” Will calls from the front, “Deal with Rachel…!” As they turn a corner and Kurt can finally see a petite brunette readying herself to follow them, eyes already brimmed with tears. She’s seized at once by the blonde girl, Quinn, who holds her tightly.

Kurt’s left, once again, forgotten in the middle of the large living room and he wonders if maybe this would be a good time to run. Only, that’s also when a dark-haired, tan-skinned girl, with a sling holding her arm close to her chest comes sprinting up the stairs from where Rachel had appeared. She turns to Puck and Sam, the pair of them still standing there, looking pale and lost. “Go downstairs. Get those cuts fixed. Mercedes will take care of you guys,” she says calmly, but firmly.

“But-” they both start and she shakes her head.

“You’re in no state to help. I’ll tell Joe to go take care of Finn, and I’ll help Emma with Blaine.”

“Your arm – you can’t-“

“Mercedes took care of it. It’s just sore, nothing else. I can push through it, I promise, Trouty.”

“If I can’t go in there, why can you?!”

“Because I clearly have a hold of myself,” she says, her voice suddenly a lot harsher.

“I don- I can- I… How can you just stand there like that while he’s-“

“Don’t!” she cuts him off, “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say, because if you do, I swear I _will_ kill you.”

“I hav-“

“I can help!” Kurt hears his voice as if it wasn’t his own. Whatever happened to ‘good time to run’?

“What?” all three turn to him, the new girl more confused than anyone else.

“With Blaine! I can help, with whatever!” he says, convincing himself more than them, “I’m not hurt, I can help!”

“I’m not sure that’s such a goo-“

She’s interrupted as violent screams erupt from the closed door of Blaine’s bedroom. Sam’s scrambling to go back there, but Puck manages to hold him back just in time, “Let me go!”

There’s another scream that cracks into a series of loud whimpers right after.

“He’s alive!” Puck says with a hesitant, but honest smile, “He’s screaming cuz he’s alive, Sam! He’ll be alright!”

“You don’t know that!”

“Take him downstairs!” The girl snarls at Puck and then turns to Kurt with frown, like she’s doing him a favor, “You go in there! Tell Joe to come to Finn’s room!”

Kurt nods numbly as he dashes to the door and opens it, just as another cry fills the house. Blaine’s lying on a bed, contorting in pain, tears mingling with sweat as a nervous looking redheaded woman straddles him and holds a soaked cloth to his bare torso. The sheets are completely ruined, red with blood. She too is crying, mumbling over and over again, “I’m so sorry, Blaine, I’m so sorry!”

He must’ve stood there for a while because when he regains focus Blaine isn’t screaming anymore, just panting and whimpering slightly, his eyes closed, breathing hard through his nose as hands fist the sheets, clearly trying to contain himself.

“Huh…” he coughs, making his presence known, and both the woman and a boy with dreadlocks that had been soaking another cloth in a thick liquid muttering under his breath looked up, “Joe?”

“Yes?” the boy looks at him. There’s sweat on his brow.

“They need you with, huh, Finn...? His room.”

“Oh no!” The woman gasps, her voice small and whimpering.

Joe just nods and stands, disappearing at once.

“Can I – Can I help you?”

She looks at him with wide eyes for a long moment. Kurt thinks of Bambi.

“Can I help you?” he repeats.

“Yes!” she gasps, shaking her head to herself, “I need you to hold him, just like this.”

Kurt swallows thickly and nods, moving to replace her. She takes the cloth off Blaine’s skin and the boy breaths out and seems to all but collapse with relief. Kurt throws one leg over Blaine’s hips and takes a new cloth from the woman’s hand, trying to ignore the weirdness of straddling the relative stranger who saved his life, while he’s barely conscious and there’s a woman standing there, “You need to press it deep against the wound, so the salve can get through.”

He nods numbly and somehow doesn’t even think to mention that this is not how you treat gunshot wounds. As soon as he presses it back Blaine’s contorting in pain again, nearly throwing Kurt off himself, and gasping out.

“N-n-noooo!” he breathes, voice hoarse, barely there, “STOPstoppleasestopstop!”

Kurt sends a panicked look at the woman who just shakes her head and tells him not to stop. He’s not so sure he can help anymore but he tries to swallow his own fears and the fact that it feels like he’s torturing the guy that saved his life. “I’m so sorry…” he mumbles, holding the cloth with one hand, and brushing drenched hair off Blaine’s forehead, “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

The woman is running a cloth through what Kurt can only assume is more salve, and muttering words under her breath much like Joe had been.

“I need to get the one on his leg, too.” She says suddenly.

“Oh.”

“I’ll need to get the bullet out first, though.” She continues, like she’s saying it more to herself than to Kurt, “It’s not like that one. That one’s through and through, no bullet… but… He’s not going to like it. So, could you…”

“Hold on extra tight?” Kurt offers.

“Yes, please.” She nods and hands him a new cloth, and Kurt takes it. She drops the old one on the salve and turns back towards Blaine.

She quickly cuts the leg of his pants away, and then presses a hand to his flesh. Kurt should probably be paying attention to his own job on Blaine’s chest, but her hand is _glowing._ Honest to god _glowing_. “What th-“

“AHHPLEASEDON’TMAKEITSTOP!” Blaine lurches with such strength that Kurt almost falls over before he balances himself again and gives up entirely on watching the glowing hand. Trying not to think too hard on whatever the fuck is happening around him and instead focusing on keeping his hand in place.

“Blaine!” The woman’s voice calls through, frantic and nervous, “I need you to sing it! Please sing it!”

Blaine’s gritting his teeth trying to keep his screams in and he takes a long series of hard, shallow breaths before he (sort of but not really) sings in a completely broken voice, more whimper than anything else “ _qero reviv, aduja mye reviv, quero reviv_ ”, her voice joins his soon enough and the glowing is so strong it fills the entire room with golden light.

Beneath him Blaine is twisting and gasping and crying, no longer managing to even hum the song, and then suddenly he’s not. His torso falls against the mattress, his hands stop twisting the sheets, and his hips stop trying to push off Kurt’s.

“Oh my god, oh my god, is he-“

“He’s just passed out.” She says, “I almost wish he’d stay like this until we’re done…” she sighs like she knows it won’t happen. She pulls her hand away and there’s something black and small poking out of Blaine’s leg. She picks it up; it’s the bullet. Kurt tries not to pass out from confusion.

“I think…” she says thoughtfully, “I think I don’t need salve for this one,” she smiles tiredly. “It’s not very deep, you see?”

Kurt wants to say ‘No, I really don’t.’ and ‘What the hell are you even talking about?!’ but instead he just stares back at her.

“Well, it hurts less, anyway… just the enchantment, I mean,” she takes a deep breath and presses a hand back to his leg. Blaine squirms but doesn’t wake up.

Kurt shakes his head, as if that would make things seem less impossible and turns back to Blaine. The boy looks mildly peaceful now. His hair drenched in sweat, wet curls framing his pale face. Kurt notices his features much better now, and there’s a slightly bumpy, crooked nose, soft full-ish lips, still stained blood-red, and a strong, wide jaw. Kurt smiles at how much nicer Blaine’s face is when it’s not contorted in pain.

“The leg is healed,” the woman announces.

“Oh. Okay,” he says. Silence falls between them. “What’s your name?”

“Emma,” she says, with a small smile “What’s yours?”

“Kurt.”

“That’s a beautiful name. Strong, too.”

He finds it oddly nice, “Thank you,” he smiles. “Why couldn’t you do what you did to his chest if that was less painful, and faster?”

“Because that wound is much deeper. And it hit a lung. I don’t… I’m a good healer, but I’m not… _that_ good,” she shrugs with a nervous chuckle, “I needed the salve doing as much damage repair as it can, before I try closing it up with the enchantment. And the salve really hurts. I also gave him a small potion to make up for the blood loss, and his body is generating blood much faster, which adds up to a little extra discomfort,” Kurt doubts it’s very little, from the way she cringes with the idea, “But I think it’s almost done, now… I think I can do it soon.”

Kurt nods.

She takes the cloth, gently removing Kurt’s hand from it. The wound is red and angry, but it’s not bleeding. “Kurt. When Blaine wakes up, I’m going to ask you to help me. It’s going to hurt – maybe more than the salve, because… I’ve never had to use the two together, and… well, I think it’ll really hurt, because I’ll be sealing the salve inside his flesh. I need him to sing the song, so the enchantment can work. I need you to help him with that. Okay?”

“How?”

“I don’t know, just… sing it too?”

“I don’t know it…”

“Just hum the melody, then. Hold his hand. Help him focus.”

Kurt nods. He feels his own sweat starting to run down his temple. He moves to sit next to Blaine. With a long breath he looks back to the unconscious boy whose eyes are blinking open and a frown is settling over with discomfort. Kurt feels only a little self-conscious as he finds Blaine’s hand and holds it, squeezing. Emma is already assuming position, hands starting to glow as she presses them against Blaine’s wound.

It’s instantaneous. Blaine’s eyes fly wide open and his mouth opens in a voiceless scream, body tightening and back arching off the bed, tears filling his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. Kurt can feel his own hand being crushed but he tries to ignore the pain – it must be minimal, when compared. “Blaine!” he asks, “Blaine! Look at me, hey, look at me!”

Blaine’s eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched as he tries to hold the pain in.

Kurt takes his other hand to Blaine’s cheek and guides his face to look at him, “Blaine, look at me, I’m right here, look, it’s me, Kurt!” Blaine’s eyes open, hazel drowning in tears, and his breaths come out too strong, but steadier, in a clear attempt at self-control. His lips are still tightly closed keeping his screams inside. “Remember me? You saved my life! Remember that? I’m Kurt! I’m helping Emma. She tells me you need to sing. So come on, Blaine, I need you to sing for me! Can you do that, Blaine, can you sing for me?”

Blaine shakes his head, the movement eliciting fresh tears to pour down his face.

“Yes, yes you can! Come on! How is it? You have to teach me, I don’t know the words! Come on, Blaine, teach me the song.”

“ _Qero”_ he grunts, taking three deep breaths before the next word, “r-re-reviv,” another three deep breaths, “ _Aaaaaaduja mye_ OH FUCK _reviv_ ,” whimpers and sobs and another scream and a grunt before “ _qero reviv_ ”. Emma’s hands are already glowing much brighter.

“Okay! That’s great! You’re a natural! You’re a star! Again! Encore, please! I can’t get enough of your voice, please!”

Blaine gives him a fleeting breathless smile and Kurt feels his heart half un-clenching at that. Blaine closes his eyes and nods tersely before taking a few deep breaths and whimpering out in a broken voice, “ _qero reviv, aduja mye reviv, qero reviv_.”

“ _Qero reviv, aduja mye reviv, qero reviv,_ ” Emma’s singing too, and Kurt doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing but he figures he might as well sing it. “ _Qero reviv, aduja mye reviv, qero reviv._ ”

Between Emma’s tearful voice, Kurt’s hesitant singing, and Blaine turning it from song into howls of pain, the room is filled with so much light Kurt has to close his eyes. Emma’s hands are glowing so bright it’s practically blinding.

And then it’s gone. Emma’s gasping for air and taking her hands off Blaine’s chest and there’s nothing left there except lightly glowing skin and the tiniest hint of a scar. She lets out a breath so heavy and long she might as well have been holding it for hours.

“Oh goodness…” she sighs, hanging her head back, tears streaming down her cheeks. She collapses to the floor and smiles. “My goodness!”

Kurt looks between her and the boy in his arms – because, somehow, Blaine ended up clutching to Kurt with strong hands.

Blaine’s breaths against Kurt’s chest are deep and exhausted. Kurt holds a hand to his hair and says, “You did it, you’re okay. You’re fine, you’re fine. You did good.”

He feels Blaine’s nod against himself and then he hears as he croaks out, “Thanks…”

“Well, you saved my life, it was only fitting.” Kurt responds, but the boy’s already asleep in his arms and Kurt’s left there, in the silence of the room.

One person passed out, another mumbling “oh goodness” over and over again, her face in her hands, and the third one staring ahead of himself, completely and utterly lost.

Kurt has never had so many thoughts and questions running through his mind. The fact that he hasn’t had a panic attack until now is by itself a miracle.

But finally, sitting on a strange bed, in a strange room, of a strange house, in a strange, well, world, with a strange boy in his arms and a stran _ger_ woman with hands that _glow_ and heal stuff…

Kurt’s breaths are becoming shallow and fast; he can’t make them stick, his chest is tightening and tightening, caving in on itself, no breath of air enough to fill his lungs or make it stop feeling like he’s suffocating.

In the back of his head it registers that the Emma woman is calling his name, but he can’t do anything except stand really still and try to breathe.

 


	3. The Bluebird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forever in debt and grateful to notthetoothfairy, aka my thinking buddy, for beta’ing this story and generally being awesome.

Weird trains. Death Camps. Machine Gun Lunatics. Explosions and war-like combat. Handsome boys saving his life. Handsome boys almost dying. Hands that glowed.

Kurt wakes up with a severe headache and a distinct feeling that he’s just had the weirdest and most elaborate dream of his life – even worse than that time he dreamed about his father coming out to him and then opening the front door to a whole gay pride parade filling their house (somehow thousands of people fitting easily in their living room) and then his dad was making out with three men in Village People outfits on the couch (that had definitely been the part that turned the dream from weird to outright nightmare).

He takes a deep breath and stretches his arms over his head, finally opening his eyes.

That’s not a familiar ceiling. Those are not familiar walls. Or windows. Or bed. Or desk. Or, really, anything.

Kurt’s trying to remember what happened after he got on the train, but he only remembers being sad, bored and staring out the window, and then… it’s the dream. He’s pretty much ready to assume he randomly blocked the rest of the journey to his great-aunt’s house from his memory, because that _has_ to be where he is. And she probably has an aspirin, too. He needs one.

There’s a creak at the door and he scrambles to clutch the sheet against himself – he’s in his undershirt and jeans?! Whatever happened to his pajamas? – but, as it creeps open, no one comes in. He keeps staring at it, though, willing an old lady to come in and say ‘Did you sleep well? I made you breakfast? Want it in bed? Oh, your head hurts, dear? I’ll bring you an aspirin too!’, but instead there’s a purring noise and… shit.

“Oh, not you again!” Kurt gasps as the maroon cat jumps onto the bed, not even fazed when Kurt scoots all the way back, until he can’t actually make himself and the headboard one. The cat curls up on the foot of the bed and falls asleep easily. Kurt just keeps staring at it like that will make it go away or disappear into thin air. But instead it just stays there, all curled up into a ball of shiny fur, its back moving up and down with slow, quiet breaths.

Kurt moves, tries to at least get off the bed, lest the beast awaken and attack him. Instead the cat just stirs awake, lifting its head up with a small meow and looking at Kurt with golden eyes.

“Hey.” Kurt cringes, trying not to feel too pathetically afraid of the small cat. The cat purrs and unfurls itself only to walk over towards Kurt. “Please don’t,” Kurt pleads in a whimper, but the cat merely continues on its way until it finds the perfect spot, right between Kurt’s leg and the wall, and snuggles back again. “Is this one of those tricks where you’re lulling me into a false sense of security?” Kurt whispers, and the cat merely purrs in response “Well, it’s not going to work.”

Kurt’s afraid to move so he does the only other thing he can think of (no, not sleeping – there’s a vicious beast next to him waiting for any opportunity to strike). He doesn’t move. Except to look around the room, so he can try to figure out what the hell is happening with his life. Granted, he could still be in his great-aunt’s home, and she just happens to have a cat, which Kurt incorporated into his insane dream.

Yes. That makes sense. Making sense is good.

There’s warm and bright light coming from the window, seeping through its white curtains, so Kurt figures it’s not early morning anymore. Which is strange because he doesn’t usually sleep in and, even so, he doesn’t remember turning his alarm clock off.

He tries to listen for sounds outside the bedroom, but there aren’t any.

Maybe his great aunt died and that’s why she’s not moving around the kitchen making lunch like every other eighty-something year old lady with a brand new house guest. Kurt immediately frowns to himself at the morbid, rude thought.

Although… maybe he should check just to be sure.

As if reading his mind the cat spurs back to life, meowing away and stretching (opening its mouth and, really, those are _fangs_ ). It nudges Kurt’s leg with his little head. “Oh god! You’re trying to force me out of bed, aren’t you? Why? What’s your plan?” But as the cat keeps nudging, not particularly pushing – more like rubbing its head against his knee –, Kurt has to entertain the idea that maybe it’s just asking to for cuddles. Reluctantly, Kurt obliges and, boy, does this cat purr. It meows again, making sure to turn its head just right so that Kurt’s fingers scratch whatever part of itself it wants, and then apparently gets bored and saunters away, jumping off the bed and out the door.

So, maybe not a vicious beast.

Kurt considers leaving the bedroom and trying to figure out exactly where he is. And while the thought isn’t exactly his favorite he figures he probably should.

He pokes his head out the door and, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he finds himself looking at a long, long corridor that could hardly belong to an old spinster’s Brooklyn home – the same way the absolute silence surrounding the house also doesn’t speak of any part of any city.

The cat is at the end of the corridor, licking its paw. Once it spots Kurt, it puts the paw down and walks off, disappearing behind a corner. With slightly weak legs and trembling hands Kurt decides to follow it. The silence is almost as terrifying as the fact that he recognizes the wood from the doors. The dream. The dream that feels less and less like a dream right now.

The cat slips inside a door, keeping it ajar. Kurt walks slowly up to it, wondering if it’s a good idea at all. With his breath held he pushes the door open enough that he can see inside.

The cat’s hopped on top of a bed and is walking all over someone’s (probably sleeping and not dead, but still… maybe _beast_ indeed) body. Kurt figures the cat’s just about reached the face and then there’s a sort of choked breath and a giggle and a sleepy groan, “Get off, oh my god, you’re such a pain!” It’s a man’s voice, a slightly familiar voice. The man’s chuckling and his hands are coming to grab the cat and throw it way.

As soon as he does he sees Kurt. Blaine can see Kurt and Kurt can also see Blaine. They can see each other.

He’s no longer pale or dripping with sweat, blood and tears. He’s not running and ducking bullets in the middle of a dark, combat zone, either.

Instead, he’s just a cute boy with bedhead and wide, surprised eyes.

It’s not a dream.

The feeling takes Kurt over like a tidal wave.

Rationally he knows he should be thinking ‘ _this is a dream and apparently it’s not over yet’_ , but in his body and the way he can feel it all too present, in the way that this room is so clearly someone’s room and not just something vague from his imagination, in the way that that boy looks so incredibly real, lying on a bed, somewhere between sleepy and startled… somehow, in his body, Kurt can feel reality. Whatever impossible reality this might be, it’s still not a dream.

“Kurt!” Blaine says, trying to sit up at once, but flinching as he does and taking a sharp breath, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw.

“Are you hurt?!” Kurt gasps, thoughts of dreams and fear somehow slipping his mind at once. He steps towards Blaine, hands stupidly stretched towards him, as if there was anything he could do to help.

“No, just-just sore.” He groans as he lies back down.

“Oh.”

“I’m fine really.” Blaine nods with a sigh, and then smiles, “Thanks, though.”

“Yeah, hum, I’m… huh… sorry… I just… I followed the cat… I didn’t… I didn’t mean to creep my way into your room or anything,” Kurt says blushing. And really, why is he even embarrassed or shy, if he should just be running for the hills because he’s in a house full of strangers that were fighting and _killing_ people just the night before.

Blaine smiles again, “It’s fine. I… huh… I bet you’re… huh… you’re, hm, probably feeling, hm…”

“Confused? Scared? Exhausted? Hungry? Yes!”

Blaine laughs and Kurt would scowl at the fact that none of that was meant to be funny, but Blaine’s painful wince is punishment enough. He takes a deep breath before turning back to Kurt and getting his smile back into place, “Well, we can definitely help with the hungry part.” He takes another deep breath, holding it as he sits up, groaning a little, and throws his covers off. He blushes a little when he seems to realize he’s in boxers and undershirt, and Kurt has a hard time not doing the same, “Sorry, huh, I’ll…” Blaine gestures towards the cotton pants on his chair.

“Do you want me to turn around?” Kurt manages to mumble through his own blush.

Blaine just chuckles self-consciously and shakes his head, “I think the harm’s done now, anyway.”

Kurt just nods with nothing to say to that and keeps his eyes firmly above Blaine’s head. Regretfully, if he's being honest.

“Besides…” Blaine adds, interrupting himself with a groan as he pushes against the mattress to stand, “I think it’s all downhill from the point you’ve seen me whimpering like a little baby.”

Kurt sputters trying to find words to that and all he can come up with is, “You almost died!”

Blaine’s smile falters and he says, “Yes, well…”

“I’m sorry, that was… I… what I meant was, it’s okay that you were crying – you were… you were really hurt. And you were _not_ whimpering like a baby.”

He finds the other boy looking at him with a question in his eyes and a curious expression. But then he just shrugs it away, reaches for his pants and smiles teasingly, “Was it a manly whimpering, then?”

Kurt tries to bite back a giggle, because this is not the time or the place to be giving into jokes and something that feels like what he always imagined flirting would be like, “The screaming was definitely manly.”

“Oh, good! I’m relieved!” Blaine sighs with an easy laugh, and then his smile vanishes and his face becomes the picture of effort and pain as he tries to put on his pants. Kurt doesn’t think twice before he grabs his elbow and helps him stand steady. Once the pants are on, Blaine takes a while to get his breath back. He closes his eyes and takes long, deep breaths.

Kurt finds himself watching his profile, and he’s too close to not notice the exact shape of the small bump on Blaine’s nose bridge, or just how strong his chin is, or his lashes – dear ~~~~god his lashes –, and this is _certainly_ not the appropriate time to give into boy gawking.

“Okay, we can move now.” Blaine says, voice breathy and clipped.

Kurt gives him a small smile, “Are you sure you’re even supposed to be moving?”

Blaine shrugs, “Sure.”

“Sure?” Kurt quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, what’s the worse that can happen?” Blaine says cheekily before taking a step.

His right leg is the problem. It’s still really sore and Blaine can barely put any weight on it without the hand he has on Kurt’s shoulder turning into a death grip. “I’m sorry…” Blaine mumbles, letting go and hesitating before dropping his arm, and trying on his own, “I’ll be better tomorrow, it’s the day after that’s a real bitch.”

“Don’t be silly!” Kurt chastises, takes Blaine’s hand and puts it firmly back on his shoulder, “Hold on! I’m not going to break if you need to squeeze a little.”

Blaine gulps and gives him a tight smile before giving another small step with a sharp intake of breath.

“Although this just goes to prove my point that maybe you should just be in bed.”

Blaine doesn’t really have the capacity to respond so he just purses his lips and rolls his eyes and Kurt wants to smack him on the shoulder. It’s times like these that Kurt understands when people complain about his stubbornness. Also, it’s times like these (not that they happen often, or ever) when Kurt wonders what the hell he’s doing helping a practically complete stranger out of bed so they can have breakfast together, in a house filled with (probably violent) raging lunatics, and acting like they’re old friends.

They’re almost at the door (how far is the kitchen exactly?!) when a knock sounds, closely accompanied by a voice, as the door is pushed all the way open “Blaine! He’s gon-Oh!”

It’s Will – the old, well, old _er_ guy – and he’s suddenly staring at the two of them with a gaping mouth.

“We were going to eat breakfast.” Blaine explains in a tone Kurt’s not sure is completely innocent, “Kurt’s hungry.”

“Oh…?” Will turns to Kurt who can barely nod, let alone talk. There’s something about Blaine that doesn’t completely terrify Kurt (like maybe the fact that he did save Kurt’s life more than once), but everyone else feels like a punch to his stomach because he just has no idea what is happening, who they are or what they want and will do to him.

“Come on, then!” Blaine sighs, “I’m not gonna stand here forever!”

Will snaps out of his own stupor and nods at once, taking Blaine’s other side. It’s a little bit faster like this and it only takes them like ten minutes (Kurt’s probably exaggerating) to get to the dining room, where Blaine slowly takes a seat and then smiles at Kurt and invites him to sit next to him. Will mumbles about getting the tea ready, and Blaine nods and reaches for an apple from the fruit basket.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks quietly, after swallowing his first bite.

Kurt just looks at him for a moment and then shakes his head, “Probably not.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” Kurt sighs, because for as innocent as the question probably was, Kurt finds it a little stupid and redundant. “I don’t… I… I have no idea what’s happening. I just… I keep thinking I must be asleep and dreaming, because none of this can be real, but I’ve woken up twice now and I’m still here, and I don’t even remember falling asleep before I got here and… also, I’ve never once assumed I was dreaming whenever I actually was, not once in my life do I remember questioning it, no matter how bizarre the dream got I’d never question it, if that makes any sense. And I just…”

“There’s always a first time for everything.” Blaine shrugs with a smile that’s half sincere, half teasing.

“Are you telling me this _is_ a dream?”

Blaine shakes his head, “No.”

“So, this isn’t a dream?”

“I can’t prove that to you…” he says softly.

“But you know this isn’t a dream?” Kurt counters.

Blaine just smiles gently and nods.

“How do you know this isn’t your dream, though?”

Blaine’s smile grows, amused, and he just shrugs, “I don’t… but these feel pretty damn real.” He says pointing to his chest and his leg.

“Oh, right.” Kurt says quietly, “I’m s-“

“Tea’s ready!” Will announces coming back with the kettle in one hand and balancing three cups on the other, “What do you want to eat?”

“Huh, just a toast would be fine… thank you.”

Will nods, almost too cheerfully, “A toast coming right up!” and disappears back to the kitchen.

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s nervous. You know… we weren’t expecting you quite like this either…” Blaine notes as Kurt pours them the tea.

“What do you mean? You were expecting me?”

“I… huh… what?” Blaine frowns, “Of course we were expecting you!”

“I’ve… I mean… is that why everyone takes one look at me and freaks out…? They keep calling me whatever bird or something, and I just don’t get it. I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s not one of them, and I’m pretty sure up until yesterday I didn’t even look that much like a bird, so, Honestly, I’m just… I’m thinking maybe I need a mirror… because I-”

Blaine’s bemused chuckle interrupts him, “There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

“Oh.” Kurt blushes because it’s not everyday he gets to hear that from a beautiful boy who saved his life and has eyes that could probably melt icebergs. Even if maybe it’s just an observation from a completely scientific point of view meaning he has two eyes, a nose and a mouth. He looks away and makes himself take a sip from the tea, despite its scalding temperature. “Not even a bird tattoo? Cuz apparently I’m a blackbird or something...”

“Bluebird.” Blaine corrects with a slight frown, “And it’s your eyes. Obviously…?” Clearly Kurt should be aware of something he’s not.

“What about them?”

“They’re blue.” Blaine says like that answers everything.

“Oh! Well, lots of people have blue-“

“No one has blue eyes.”

“No one? Well, the house isn’t that small, but still – that’s not that surprising, is it?” Kurt rolls his eyes. Of course. He just had to land himself in the middle of a blue-eye fetishist commune.

“No!” Blaine half laughs, half frowns, “Anywhere! No one has blue eyes! Except for-”

“Wait. What? What do you mean no one?!”

“Well…” Blaine seems just about as surprised at how the conversation is starting out as Kurt; he chuckles a little stunned and then smirks and shrugs, “You do.”

“Yes, b-“

“One freshly made toast for you.” Will puts down the plate and sits opposite the two of them. It’s the first time Kurt stops to actually pay attention to the man. There’s something funny about his clothes, and yet Kurt can’t quite pinpoint it. The fabric looks… odd. Like Kurt’s never even seen it. It looks light like cotton, but a lot smoother… and yet it’s not shiny like silk… He’s wearing a white dress shirt and the sleeves are way too baggy for, well, anyone, and his gray vest has an intriguing cut and a fabric as indeterminable as the shirt and suddenly Kurt feels like he’s looking at something from another time, or _world_ entirely, so he turns to Blaine and it registers that his baggy, lounge pants look… different, too.

“Where am I?” he asks and then adds, because maybe that’s the real question, “ _When_ am I…?”

“You’re in Curtill… county of Anan.” Will smiles proudly.

“Curtill? What’s that? Like a city? A village? Town?”

“A kingdom.” Blaine supplies and Kurt sputters tea all over the table.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no such kingdom.” He manages after a long silence where Will offers him a fucking _weird-fabric_ napkin, “I wasn’t like super good at history or geography in school, but I know my queens, and there’s no kingdom called Curtill, and I bet it’s not even a country…!”

Will’s looking at him like he’s a Republican and Kurt just told him Jesus was gay for Judas.

“I think…” Blaine starts, shooting Will a disapproving look, “you’re gonna have to, huh, broaden your horizons a little bit for us…. I… Listen, where did you come from?”

“Ohio.”

Blaine looks torn between nodding like Kurt’s just proved his point, and frowning with complete confusion, “Alright, where’s that exactly?”

“The… It’s… What the- okay, it’s in the United States of America.”

“And that’s the kingdom?” Will asks.

Kurt shoots him a look, trying to figure out if the man has some kind of problem, “No. That’s the country. It’s a republic. Well, it’s a federation of states really, but the system is republican – as in made of republics, not as in republicans versus democrats-”

“Right, okay.” Blaine cuts off his rant, “And Ohio is your village?”

“That would be Lima. Ohio is the state.”

He notices the way Blaine’s hand suddenly grasps the table a little tighter, but it’s actually Will who makes a spectacle of it. “Lima? You said Lima?”

“Yes. You know it?” Both remain silent, exchanging meaningful looks while Kurt tries to understand what it is about Lima that’s got them looking like he really _is_ Jesus.

Or something to that effect.

-x-

Everyone is crowding what’s probably a conference room. There are papers hanging on every piece of wall – maps, pictures and information that Kurt assumes is related to the rest, there are pins on the maps, and colored strings connecting them. There are big red crosses over some pictures and interrogation marks on others.

Kurt isn’t sure how he’s supposed to act towards the nine faces watching him closely. He hesitates, by the door, feeling heat crawling over his face, and considers turning on his heel and fleeing, but a hand settles carefully on his back and he glances over his shoulder to find Blaine smiling and saying, “Come on, you can sit next to Will.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and does as he’s told. Blaine takes the seat on Kurt’s right.

“Alright, now that we’re all here…” Will says after clearing his throat, and most eyes finally leave Kurt’s face, “Most of you have probably noticed an addition to our table-“

“Yeah, I thought we couldn’t keep the strays,” a tall boy, who Kurt recognizes as Finn, now – much like Blaine – with a completely different look, as he’s no longer bleeding to death. There is color to his face and a sort of boyish charm. Despite his words, he doesn’t look particularly mean, only confused.

Will rolls his eyes “We can’t. He’s not a _stray,_ Finn. And you shouldn’t even talk like that about camp prisoners, come on.”

“Sorry,” Finn mutters, blushing slightly, eyes downcast.

“He’s the bluebird, isn’t he?” Quinn interrupts, looking the most professional out of everyone else in there.

“We think so,” Will nods and suddenly the energy in the room seems to amp up by a million Watts.

Puck steps in, frowning as he asks, “Is it me or does he look a little small to save the world?”

“Save the world?!” Kurt gasps, but everyone ignores him as, at once, girls start caving in on Puck telling him about sizes and strength. Will tries to get everyone to calm down and Finn tries to back Puck up but fails miserably. So Kurt tries not to pass out and turns to Blaine and gasps, “Save the world?”

Blaine gives him a fleeting, nervous smile before clearing his throat. “ENOUGH!”. Everyone becomes silent at once. “Alright, thanks.” He sighs before turning to the one who started everything, “Puck, that’s a stupid thing to say, but this is not the time or the place for that discussion.” He rolls his eyes at the big guy who crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look unaffected, “In the mean time, I think it’s… important to… I… This isn’t exactly… how we expected. Kurt, huh, Kurt doesn’t exactly know about everything or… actually… anything. Concerning his, huh, identity, or… you know. Anything.”

“At all?” Santana raises an eyebrow.

“At all,” Will confirms.

Kurt wishes they’d stop talking about him like isn’t there, but he’s not exactly in full control of his voice at the moment, so he finds himself forced to sit there while Will continues explaining.

“I… huh, I think that… it turns out… that when Queen Elizabeth went through the portal it… it didn’t exactly just take her somewhere else in the world…”

“ _Queen_ Elizabeth?” Kurt gasps, but it’s barely a whisper and no one even notices it. What does the British Queen have to do with this bunch of weirdos?

“It appears to have taken her to an entirely different world.”

Everyone, including Kurt, is staring at Will like he’s just grown three heads. “Queen Elizabeth is the Queen of the United Kingdom and she’s been so since like, ever, and will probably go on as Queen forever. So… I just… you make zero sense. This is so not the UK. You need to seriously work on your accents if you’re going to try deceiving people like that.”

“What?!” The way Will looks at him makes Kurt feel like perhaps he’s just said the biggest bout of gibberish ever and not realized it.

“You do know what the UK is, right?”

A gentle hand lands on his own, squeezing briefly. Blaine gives him an awkward smile before he says, “There is no such thing as a United Kingdom. And I… huh, I think we’re talking about different Queens.”

“What? No, everyone knows Queen Elizabeth! Everyone knows who she is! Old, adorable, genius, a role model of amazingness…? Tea and cookies personified? If they were super rad and badass? With all the corgis.”

“Kurt…” Blaine tells him in a small, gentle tone, “No…”

“But there isn’t any other Queen Elizabeth!”

“Maybe not in your world,” Blaine offers, “But I think we’re talking about… huh, different worlds…? Like Will just said, our Queen Elizabeth was possibly taken to a different world – yours.”

“Is that even possible?” The Asian girl from the night before, Tina, gasps.

“Well, apparently it is,” Blaine sighs, looking just as mind blown as everyone else, “because Kurt has never even heard of Curtill or anything else you can think of… And I think that’s… I was told the portal was opened to take her somewhere _safe_ , and… well, apparently that place didn’t exist in our world.”

“What the…!”

“So, he doesn’t even _know_ he’s the crown prince?” Sam gapes.

“I’m the c-WHAT?!” Kurt gasps, looking around the room, begging them to shake their heads and start laughing, begging them to tell them this is just a big, stupid, elaborate high school prank. But nothing. “What do you mean I’m the crown prince? Who is this Elizabeth person if she’s not-” he stops himself, anvil sized realization suddenly dropping on his head and taking his breath away. His voice shakes as he swallows in dry and gets through his next words slowly and apprehensively, “Why does this queen person have my mom’s name?! What do you mean portals to other worlds? And what the fuck do you mean _save the world_?!”

“Kurt, I-”

“No!” He gasps, “I don’t- I need- shit! I don- Just – I just wanna go home – and I don’t understand what the hell’s happening here, but I- fuck – this is absolutely insane – and I can’t BREATHE!” He stands, knocking his chair back in the process and all but storms out of the room.

“Kurt!”

Fuck all these corridors and this fucking house that’s just one big maze, and fuck these stairs that apparently lead nowhere, and fuck, this is a bedroom, and thank god that’s the kitchen, and there! The back door!

Kurt sprints off into cold autumn air. He doesn’t stop running until his lungs start actually burning through his chest, until he finds he can’t truly physically breathe anymore and then he just collapses on the ground and stares at the sky, tears streaming down his face.

At least the sky looks familiar. A clear blue, decorated with white, sometimes greyish, puffs of clouds. At least then he can pretend he’s at the park with his parents, for a picnic and _Look mom, is that an eagle?_ and _No, honey, that’s just a little sparrow!_

He wants to go back to those memories and not look at everything like it’s any different, because it can’t really be, but nothing makes sense anymore, and his mother would call him her little prince, and he used to think it was because of the book – she’d always had a fascination with it -, but suddenly _Sleep well, my sweet little prince_ sounds so much different. It can’t actually be true, can it?

 _Mom, tell me a bed time story?_ She smiles and says _Of course! Are you all tucked in?_ He nods and looks up at her with big blue eyes and she kisses his forehead and says _Once upon a time there was little blue eyed prince that didn’t even know he was a prince…_

Kurt doesn’t even try to stop the tears from clouding his vision as everything comes back to him, so different, so strange, so… twisted. And it can’t be. It just can’t.

The clouds have changed into a completely different set, and the sun has moved from one side of Kurt to the other, slowly making its way round the sky. He shivers with cold, but can’t bring himself to go back – no matter how many hours have passed.

There are footsteps, and Kurt takes his eyes off the sky to find Blaine slowly approaching with Kurt’s coat in his hands. It’s still stained in blood. Blaine smiles carefully and asks, “Can I sit here?”

Kurt nods and wordlessly accepts the coat, draping it tight over himself. They fall into a comfortable silence, and Kurt continues to remember every version of the story where the prince would return to his rightful throne a different way, each more magical and incredible than the previous.

“She used to tell me stories about a little boy who turned out to be a prince and he didn’t know it.” He says without warning, turning to look at Blaine, who looks back, calm and far from judging.

“Your mother?”

“Yes. And then, after each one, she would say I was her little prince.”

Blaine remains silent, smiling softly and turning to look at the sky, so Kurt does the same.

“Can _I_ tell you a story, then?” Blaine asks softly.

Kurt takes his eyes away from the sky, but Blaine’s not looking at him. “Yes…”

Blaine glances towards Kurt, but goes back to watching the sky, his eyes unfocused and a little lost as he speaks, “Well, _once upon a time_ , there was a kingdom. People were happy, mostly. There was peace and, well, everything was pretty much fine, I guess. That’s what I hear, anyway… So, the kingdom’s getting ready for the birth of the King and Queen’s first born – it’s a big deal. There’s a month long carnival being prepared at the city and everything. But one night, the Queen’s just about to go to bed, her belly quite big already… And it turns out she arrives just in time to watch her husband getting killed. She manages to run. She gets to the room of the court’s enchantress – she’s a young woman, the youngest that’s ever worked for the crown, but she’s really powerful, the most powerful in the kingdom. The Queen’s hysterical, but there are loud voices outside and the enchantress understands what’s happening. Barely giving her any warning she opens a portal and sends her somewhere _safe_.

“The kingdom, though… without a Queen or a King – without even a prince or a princess… without the king’s advisors – most of them brutally murdered too… is left to pick itself up again, out of _nothing_. Martial law is declared. A lot of the surviving advisors and parliament members are found guilty of high treason and slaughter and they’re _immediately_ sentenced to death. The Royal Guard takes command. The royal family’s bloodline completely discontinued. And so, a new dynasty begins.

“A nobleman – the richest in the kingdom, the closest to the King – takes command. Martial law isn’t revoked, though it should’ve been. War’s declared on enchanters, on elves, on soldiers, on… well, anything that isn’t completely human. It’s said that the executed men were in business with all of these magical creatures, that they’d promised them power. So, they’re persecuted. But not even humans are safe – those who oppose, or even just suspect the new regime to be built under false pretense are quickly found guilty of treason or blasphemy – their trials are fast and barely existent. Work camps are created and enemies of the new crown are enslaved there – most of them die within a year, due to malnutrition, but some are brutally murdered within weeks or days.

“Those who are not human have either been captured or gone into hiding – a select few are made to work for the new command, some of them actually choosing to do it, too, hoping to gain security for it. Bounties have been put on them, and refusing to capture or even kill a witch, a wizard, a soldier… is plain foolish. Time tellers are the most valuable, and, while the most talented time teller is working for the regime, all others… well, it’s open season on them… There are attempts to ruin any credibility they might have with propaganda; there are public burnings, public hangings, public shootings… In no time they’re all gone, dead or captured – and those who remain free aren’t foolish enough to reveal themselves to anyone, friend or not.

“In less than a decade the country is completely drained of hope, and there’s barely any fight left in its people. But then… somehow, word spreads of a prophecy. No one knows exactly where it came from – who _saw_ it. But it spreads like wildfire and… there’s hope again.

“ _From the opposite land, the bluebird will return. While only he can bring back the skies that were, only with a pure heart will he take flight once more_.”

There’s silence for a long moment while Kurt tries to take everything in. The questions, he figures, should probably start small.

“Why a bluebird? What is it with blue?”

“The royal family’s color is blue. The bluebird is a symbol. Whenever a prince or a princess was born, they’d be given a bluebird, to grow up with them, and at the moment of coronation they would be set free. A reign is often called a bluebird’s flight.”

“Ok… but how do you know it’s me…?”

“For one, the prophecy said you’d return from the opposite land, and we’d always thought you’d just… show up in the castle, in enemy ground, or something like that. But you said you came from Lima, and the camp where we were last night… it was in Amil… I… it sounds… infantile, which is probably why we never even conceived the idea…”

Kurt surprises himself with a chuckle, “I suppose prophecies were never meant to be that literal.”

Blaine chuckles back “I guess not. But, here we are…” he sighs, and then turns to look at Kurt and his smile turns softer, and more honest, “And your eyes, too. Only the royal family has blue eyes.”

“Okay. Assuming this is somehow real and I’m not dreaming and a portal, or whatever, brought me to a parallel universe or something, because of some prophecy so that I’d be your king or whatever. Still, back home a lot of people have blue eyes. What if the portal, or whatever it was that got me here, made a mistake? What if it got the wrong guy? I mean, I’m flattered, with all of this, but… I don’t think I was meant to save worlds.”

“I… don’t think the portal can make mistakes, Kurt.” Blaine sighed gently, sounding almost sorry for it, “And you said it yourself – your mom told you your own story before.”

Kurt swallows thickly, blinking fresh, sudden tears away.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he turns to find Blaine looking at him with sympathy, “I know it must be hard to wrap your head around this… I can’t even pretend to know what’s going on inside your head,-”

Kurt interrupts with a bitter laugh, “Right now I just can’t stop thinking that this is just real fucking fucked up karma, because now I’m in fucking Narnia, instead of all the jackasses I used to make fun of for not coming out of the closet.”

“What?” Kurt can’t help groaning. It’s not directed at Blaine, but the boy certainly takes it that way. His eyes going wide with confusion. “I – I’m sorry, Kurt, I’m just – I didn’t understand…”

“Never mind… You were saying? I bet it was going to be super sweet and get me feeling guilty for being an ass right now.”

Blaine sputters for a moment but eventually he clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “I… was gonna… huh, say that, well, we… all of us in that house… we’ll do anything to help. Whatever you need.” He pauses, and then adds, as if he’s not sure he should say it, “We’ve… we’ve waited a long time for you, you know.”

Kurt smiles bitterly and shrugs, “I think you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Blaine eyes him quietly for a long moment, before pushing himself off the ground and to his feet. He offers a hand to Kurt, “I doubt that,” he says, like it’s that simple.

“You’re just being nice.”

“You saved my life last night Kurt… I wouldn’t have been… I… You kept me grounded. Thank you for that, by the way. You should know that.”

Kurt takes the hand and lets Blaine pull him up, “I got you to sing a song. That’s hardly close to what _you_ did… I just…” he sighs and shrugs lamely and rolls his eyes. “This is insane, and I’m really not prophesied hero material.”

“Don’t sell your self so short so soon, Kurt. It’ll be alright.”

“How would you know that?”

Blaine shrugs, “Faith.”


	4. The Resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: mentions of minor character death

Kurt can’t sleep.

Every cell in his brain is telling him he’s going mad and this can’t be true. He must have been committed to some psych yard with the diagnosis of _severe_ hallucinations. Or maybe he was hit by a truck and is in a coma and it turns out coma patients experience spectacularly farfetched, though intensely realistic dreams.

But on the other hand, every cell in the rest of his body is telling him this is real, and when his hands shake, and his voice falters, and his eyes water with frustration there’s no denying it all feels very incredibly real.

How can this be a dream when he simply can’t sleep for days and days?

They gave him pajamas, and some clothes (not exactly the kind of clothes he’d like to be wearing, but at the moment that’s _actually_ the least of his concerns). They even gave him a towel and some soap and ‘hair lotion’ so he could finally take a bath. And they gave him his own bedroom with a bathroom and a window that doesn’t really open (they probably think he might run, and they’re probably right). But even so, he can’t sleep.

He’s six years old, and his mom is tucking him to bed. _Can you tell me a story?_ She smiles like always, _Sure thing, buddy!_ And he grins and sits up a little straighter. _But not about the prince tonight… I want to know about how you and daddy met. Mandy’s parents are high school sweethearts! That means they met in high school! Are you high school sweethearts with daddy?_ He doesn’t notice the way his mother’s smile falters. _Oh! Huh, no, sweetie, we didn’t meet in high school. We were… Well… I… Well, mommy had just left her old home – you see she couldn’t stay there anymore – and she was in a bit of pickle._ He frowns, crinkling his nose, _In a pickle?!_ She laughs. _It means to be in trouble; mommy was in trouble, and all alone, in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night – well, actually, when we met it was practically dawn already and your daddy was opening up his brand new shop. He was the first person I saw, so I walked over and asked him where I could find a place to sleep._ She pauses to brush her fingers through his hair. _And then what?!_ he urges, because he’s not the world’s most patient six year old, and she winks, _And then it was love at first sight! For him, at least._ She sniggers and he squints his eyes, _Not for you?_ Her smile softens. _Mommy was… very sad when she met daddy, and… well, I needed some time before I could stop being sad and fall in love with daddy, too. But when I did, I really did._

Kurt sighs and brushes his tears away.

For the first time it hits Kurt – he doesn’t know how he hasn’t added this up sooner – but now he realizes.

Burt Hummel is not his father.

If all of this is true (and in his heart he knows it is), Burt’s not his real father.

And the man that _is_ is long dead. Has been dead since before Kurt was even born.

Cliché thoughts of “but he will always be my _dad_ ” cross his mind and he knows they’re true, but there are still things he wishes he could just forget and _unknow_.

And if he could just keep on believing this was all a dream… that Burt is still his father, his own flesh and blood… maybe he could pretend this whole thing was just silly ideas, that they’d never even be true. But he can’t. He just physically can’t.

He’ll die of dehydration if he doesn’t stop crying soon. It’s been at least two weeks and he’s refused to leave the room or eat anything. He just cries a lot.

He imagines Blaine’s stance on faith has changed by now. He figures everyone in that house probably hates him and how pathetic he is.

Some savior he turned out to be.

But it’s not like they have any right to judge him, or expect more from him. No. Definitely not. Kurt has every right to be upset; Kurt has every damn right to be terrified. He _should_ be! This is the sort of thing horror movies aren’t made of, but should. Only insane people would just take this and roll with it. Sanity makes him know how absolutely impossible this is. And if something this impossible is happening then what else is there in store for him?! Where’s the line? He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to start making sense of any of it.

However, as depressed as he feels, once his body has exhausted itself into listlessness instead of panic and desperation; when the hurricane inside his mind eases into strong, harsh winds, he can’t help finally feeling a little bit human again. Two weeks on a few sips of soup Blaine brings him daily, with a sad smile and polite silence, have finally caught up to him. He’s beyond starving; he’s beyond the need to stretch his legs and just move; he’s beyond the need to do something other than lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s the middle of the night, anyway, so there’s not a big chance he’ll run into anyone.

With a small grunt he pushes himself off the bed and heads out. He frowns and smiles a little as he finds the small maroon cat curled up at his door, and then continues on his way. He finds the kitchen with relative ease (that isn’t to say he didn’t get the wrong room at least twice). Quietly, he picks up a piece of fruit and pours himself a glass of water and heads to the back porch. The night is cold, freezing even, but the harshness of the air against his skin feels good. He takes a blanket and sits there watching the stars. Like the other day, the familiarity of the sky above calms him down a little.

After a very long time, when the sky is already turning a few shades lighter, there’s a creak and he finds a small girl with long dark hair and big brown eyes stepping outside – Rachel, he remembers from that first, chaotic night.

“Hi…” she says in a whisper. “May I join you?”

He shrugs and nods, wishing he could actually be rude enough to say no. She smiles and sits down, before looking him over.

“My parents used to give me a glass of water whenever I was sad. At some point I stopped being able to tell thirst apart from sadness.” She says without any prompting, “Are you sad?”

Kurt considers not answering, but then he sighs “And thirsty…”

“Oh…” she nods. “Do you… do you miss where you came from? Finn told me you didn’t even know who you were.”

“I… No. I don’t miss _it_.” Kurt says, and it’s true – he doesn’t miss high school and taunting, and he doesn’t miss packing his dad’s things, and he doesn’t miss being way too acquainted with funeral homes and social services agents. “I miss feeling like I know the world around me, and where I’m headed… and… I miss my parents. But I didn’t even have those anymore, back there, so…”

“Oh…”

“I guess I’m just… confused… and...”

“And scared.” She adds with a generous, but knowing tone.

“I… huh, well…”

“It’s okay to be scared. We all are.” Kurt eyes her carefully and she looks back, strong, “I was terrified that night you came. Finn looked like he was about to die.”

“Are you…?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” She nods, smiling proudly.

“Right…”

“Did you have a girlfriend? Do you miss her?”

Kurt almost laughs. “No. No girlfriend.” He doesn’t elaborate, he’s not exactly sure he wants to. He can’t guess what their reaction would be.

They fall into silence again. Her company isn’t all that bad, although he can practically hear her thinking as she bites her lip and twists her fingers. She looks young.

“Rachel…? Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.”

“Everyone in this house… you’re all… maybe not Will or Emma, but… everyone else, you’re all pretty young.” He prompts softly, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to elaborate so he does “I’m just wondering, how… what about your parents? Where are all your families…? Don’t you…?”

She smiles softly but sadly, “We’re not all orphans, not exactly, no… but… well… Not in the strict sense of the word… But. My parents were… arrested. I’ll never know for sure, but… I have to assume they’re dead.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes are shiny, but she holds back tears with apparent practice, “It’s been a long time, I’m… I miss them, but… well. You know.”

“I understand,” Kurt says, “You get used to it. The hole starts feeling a little smaller – you fill it with other things, and, even when you don’t quite manage to close it… it still feels… normal.”

She nods and smiles sadly, “Yes, that’s pretty much it,” she sighs “The others… I’m not sure I should… they’re not my stories to tell. But one way or another, this inn is our home and we’re a family.”

He nods, understanding her reluctance to tell stories that aren’t hers. “And you’re… fighting?”

She beams proudly, “When the prophecy came out… there was just… there was a fire – of hope, I mean –, and… well, they just couldn’t put it out if they tried. Of course we’re careful, and all of this is super secret, and if we’re caught I think we won’t even get a trial or go to a work camp – which I suppose is some sort of relief, because I’d much rather be killed at once, than kept alive and tortured like a slave…”

“So you’re…”

“We’re the _Resistance_.” She tells him with her head held high, “But we’re _one_ cell, and there are others, many others,” she adds, and then she shrugs to herself. “I don’t fight yet, though, not really. I… the thought of blood still freaks me out, and… I… my training’s not complete, so for now I know I wouldn’t do very well on the battlefield – I’d freeze, or… I don’t know. I would just hinder more than help, I guess. That’s why I wasn’t at the meeting. I’m not allowed yet.”

He gives her a feeble smile and tries not to show too much that he’s not exactly battlefield material either. For as much _faith_ as Blaine might have in him.

He pulls his knees closer to himself and lets out a long breath.

“The thing is... I… I had a life back home…” he says, “I had plans and dreams. I knew what I wanted to do and it definitely didn’t involve crowns.” Contrary to what McKinley High’s student body seemed to think on junior Prom night.

She’s silent for a long time before she says, “I’ve never been allowed to have a dream.” Kurt takes it like a punch, something about the way Rachel says it seems so _wrong_ , like there shouldn’t ever be a world where she could say those words sounding that resigned, “They took that away from me even before I could understand what a dream was.”

He doesn’t know what to say because he knows what she means by that, and suddenly there’s a big part of him that does wish he could help somehow – but he can’t just turn into a hero overnight. For as much as he’d love to be able to help her and everyone else, it’s unrealistic to even conceive of a life where Kurt would be that person.

He didn’t grow up to be a hero. He’s a survivor, but he’s not a hero.

And crown prince or not, he just wants to go home.

“Maybe you could give us a chance,” she offers, after a long time in silence, “Just join us for lunch tomorrow, or something. And you’ll see we’re not that scary, and maybe we can help you get… used to this. You don’t have to be alone.”

He stays silent, and maybe she gets the hint, because she doesn’t say anything else either. And maybe they weren’t expecting someone like Kurt, maybe they weren’t expecting selfish, and scared, and confused, but… is it really fair for them to expect anything at all of someone who never even guessed this was supposed to be his future?

-x-

He agrees to it, though. Once he can hear the cluttering noises of a table being set, and breathes in the smell of food, he steps out of his room and makes his way to the dining table. This is one small step he can take. Everyone is a little shocked, hastily making way for an extra place, but none of them have the guts to comment on it.

It’s an awkward business. Everyone’s looking at him every two minutes. They’re all clearly either expecting him to say something or to run away again, but he eats his peas silently. He spots Blaine, practically on the other end of the table, quietly chewing and not quite holding his amusement in. He wants to ask him what’s so funny, but Kurt knows exactly what it is. He might not be in a state of mind where he can actually find utter awkwardness amusing, but he can still recognize that it kind of is.

He excuses himself as soon as he’s done and retreats to his bedroom. The process repeats over the rest of the week, and by the end of it, it’s gotten significantly better – if only because they’ve learned to just let him be and resume to eating and chatting as they normally would. But also because, slowly, he’s managing to sleep again, a little easier each night.

After five days of it, though, he returns from lunch to find a pile of thick books on his bed and he gets the hint at once. Well, it’s probably better than moping around the bedroom like some kind of prisoner. If it’s going to help him understand the new world surrounding him, and keep him from drowning in frightening trains of thought of _where am I, what am I going to do, how do I get back home_ and _my mother lied to me my whole life_.

Books… Books are okay. Books are non-threatening.

 _An Introduction of Curtill History_ , is ridiculously thicker than Kurt feels any introduction should be; _Magical Creatures and Objects: A Guide_ , seems like something out of Harry Potter, and the thought is so intimidating that Kurt avoids it altogether; _The Bluebirds: a study of monarchy_ , as interesting as it sounds feels way too personal for now; _The end of an era: a collection of memoirs_ , sounds absolutely depressing.

In the end Kurt figures that one usually starts at the start, and as such, he picks up the heavy tome of introductory history.

He’s surprised to find himself easily pulled into it. But then again, when you’re thrust into a completely different world where you know absolutely nothing and yet you’re expected to save it, it’s actually quite easy to find your motivation to study. Besides, maybe he’ll find something in there about how to go back home.

The blue-eyed thing comes from ancient days when elves – who were apparently really, really smart and wise and just a tad bit too anal – ruled the land. Humans were mostly okay with it, safe for a few squabbles for power here and there. But as time went by, the line between elf and human started to blur, since there was a lot of inter-racial (well, actually, inter-species) relationships and weddings, and half-elves started to become entirely common. Physical human characteristics tended to be dominant, but the elven blue eyes prevailed in some of the children. Since there were no pure-humans with blue eyes, one would immediately know the other was from elven ascent if they had blue eyes. These humans seemed to be about as wise or sensible as any other elf, with the added ability to be warm, and likeable – a true leader, in short.

Slowly the power to rule started expanding to half-elves, or even humans that would only have an elven grandparent, or great-grandparent, as the crown moved from parent to child. Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, everyone felt much more comfortable with these part-elven-humans leading them – the cold, calculating mind of the elf dissimulated by the hot, emotional blood of a human.

Given that the kingdom and its counties were populated by many creatures who felt all the more at ease with someone who would smile every once in a while, the elves started to lose ground on the throne. Whenever a dynasty would end, on account of failure to produce an heir, the chosen king, or queen, would very rarely be an elf, but instead a human with blue eyes.

Of course this started to generate competitiveness among blue-eyed families, each claiming they had as much right or ability to reign as the other: it seemed that, as much as the human warmth, their usual greed also permeated through. Household battles were fought, and sometimes even wars, and so the number of blue-eyed humans started to dwindle until only one family remained. The climate of conflict and greed had made victims out of elves as well, sending them off to the woods to hide, or killing them for public show. Like so, at last only one blue-eyed family remained - comfortable with power since there was no one to dispute the crown. Peace began to settle once more, until a barren blue-eyed queen failed to produce heirs – which, honestly, was bound to happen at some point? What were they even thinking?! – and at once, rich, human noblemen stated claims to power, firing up a war that lasted for nearly two decades and torn the kingdom apart.

Ashamed of what she had brought upon the kingdom and of her ancestors’ actions she took to the woods to find an elf who would agree to take the crown – not before leaving a will behind where she enforced that the crown should be left alone until a suitable heir (read: someone with blue eyes) came along, and until then her main advisor should take care of the kingdom.

She did, after much search, find a small, guarded community of elves and, while they refused to help her or the kingdom, she also found a woman living nearby, secretly raising a blue-eyed, human child. The mother refused to let the queen take the child away and so, the queen stayed to live with them for the next ten years, war raging all over the world – until the child was of age and able to decide on her own.

On her sixteenth birthday, the girl asked the queen – regardless of her mother’s reticence – to take her to town so she could see for herself the world outside. Upon witnessing the calamity that had taken hold of the land the girl agreed to take the crown.

So the queen returned victorious, with a rightful heir.

It was not that simple, for the noblemen who’d been fighting among themselves weren’t keen on bending over that quickly. But the girl was strong with words and fearless, and the people grew to love and admire her soon, so, with an army made of the _people_ she took the crown.

Since then strict laws had been put into place concerning the throne. The enormous kingdom was divided into several, each of her children taking a crown for their own. And while blue-eyed humans were written to be the only rightful heirs to the crown, a chamber of elves was added to the parliaments, and a chamber of commons, too, so that noblemen would never have all the power. And in case of failure to produce an heir, the elves should take the throne – as a collective, until a suited human was found.

And so, was born the kingdom of Curtill, among many others, and the first and new dynasties began within the hard work of rebuilding their kingdoms from the ashes of war. But it was peaceful at last and many were soon thriving again. Curtill at forefront of it all. King, upon queen, upon king, upon queen (though not necessarily in that order) were taught the errors of the past and made to promise never to repeat them, and never to let greed overtake their rule.

It wasn’t always easy, but soon there were new blue-eyed people in the court, the color sometimes skipping generations before it resurfaced, but always providing the crown with choices. Like in other kingdoms, the throne had the guarantee of an heir at all times.

That’s pretty much when the first chapter ends and Kurt starts simply flipping pages because the book actually goes back to the beginning of everything and starts talking about specific reigns and kings and queens who did this and then did that, and it starts feeling a lot less like introductory history and too much like a comprehensive history course. With a sigh, Kurt checks to find he’d read a hundred pages (also known as _Prologue: a brief overview_ ).

Blinking in surprise, he looks to the window to find the sun mostly gone – no wonder his eyes are getting blurry, he’s been reading for hours and he doesn’t even have proper light anymore! He groans and lets himself fall onto the bed – only to land painfully on the forgotten pile of remaining books.

There’s a soft knock at the door and he grumbles, “Come in.”

Rachel inches the door open and beams, “Hi!”

He fights the urge to scowl and smiles back, “Hi.”

“So, you haven’t been out or made any noise in hours and they’re getting worried you escaped through the window, or something,” she says candidly, like it’s the most natural thing to say, “I’m just checking to see if you have, which you haven’t.”

“Right. No. I haven’t. It doesn’t even open.”

She nods, slightly surprised to hear that, but continues, “I will also go ahead and offer you some toast, because I figure you might be hungry,” she says striding in and laying the plate on the desk, where the monumental book remains open. “Oh! Blaine’s been by already with the books? Great! He’d asked me to do it in the morning, but I was so distracted with F– huh – well, I was distracted. I’m glad he remembered. What are you reading? Oh, an Introduction of Curtill History, I think I’ve only ever read the actual introduction! Oh, you’ve finished that already?! Aren’t you tired?”

“As a matter of fa-“

“So I guess now you know you’re part elf, right?”

Kurt freezes. He frowns.

How come, ever since he came here, every single realization he’s ever had has come ages after it should have?

It’s like an anvil has been dropped on his head, and he’s a cartoon caricature of himself, squashed flat on the hardwood floor. Is this his life now? Constantly finding out things that are way too impossible to make sense?

He takes a deep breath and swallows down the sudden anxiety. _You can do this Kurt – you can roll with it and be just fine._

He crinkles his nose. “Two questions,” he says, sitting up to look carefully at Rachel. “One: Santa Claus elf or Lord of the Rings elf? Like, special Christmas movie elf, or Orlando Bloom elf? And Two: How big a part? Was my biological father an elf or something?”

Rachel blinks at him and then stutters out, “I… huh… I… think it was your… great-great-great-grandfather, but I could be wrong,” she says and then deepens her frown, “But… Huh, I’m not sure I understood the first question.”

“Oh.” Right. No Orlando Bloom over here. Fuck. “Right. I just… never mind.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, “Well, anyway, Mercedes made you a couple of cookies two, because she’s a goddess an-“

“Real goddess or is that just a figure of speech?” he interrupts and as she frowns back at him he nods, “Figure of speech, then. Okay. You just… you gotta cut me some slack… there’s elves, there’s people with hands that glow and heal wounds… what else is there? Unicorns?!”

“Well…”

“Of course there are…” he sighs.

“You don’t have any of those where you came from?” she asks, confused, and he merely shakes his head. “Oh, well, you should really read that one, then, if this is so troubling for you,” she says, pointing to _Magical Creatures and Objects: A Guide._

“I will,” he assures her. “Eventually.”

She nods and smiles at that. “Oh, and your coats been washed and pressed,” she says, putting it on the foot of his bed, neatly folded, “Sorry it took so long, it kind of got lost in all the mess… this was in the pocket…” she places Burt’s favorite baseball cap on top of it and Kurt immediately reaches for it. It feels so much better to touch it. He’s raising it towards his face, so he can smell – it’ll always smell like his dad, he knows –, when Rachel moves to leave.

“Wait…” he calls, “can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know what happened after this?” he asks, pointing at the last page he’d read.

Her eyes skim the last paragraph and she shrugs. “Well, that’s pretty much it. For the last couple of centuries things have been pretty peaceful…”

“And then…?”

“And then… one night they killed every single blue-eyed person in the kingdom – even the children, and including your father, and then they pinned the whole thing on the elves, just so they could accuse them of high treason, and the whole chamber of elves was executed, and any who weren’t basically just disappeared off the map – if they were killed under the radar or actually managed to escape we’ll never know – and… they just succeeded in creating the perfect situation where there were no suited heirs to the throne.”

“Why didn’t someone just go into the woods to find an elf or whatever, like that queen during the war? Or ask a neighboring country for help… Don’t they have, like, blue-eyed people to spare?”

“They’re not entitled to our throne, and anyway, they can’t. They’ve tried, but the minute anyone starts anything the regime threatens to declare war. Curtill is the biggest kingdom, and it has the biggest army. They’d be fools to go against it. And the woods are forbidden – probably for that very reason -, and the elves are said to be extinct in our lands. Of course there are people searching for them, there’s a Resistance cell dedicated to just that, but no one’s ever found anything. The Royal Guard keeps a tight net on the woods. I think every single elf has probably just fled the kingdom at this point, anyway.”

“They just left? Like that? They didn’t even try and fight or… or help?” Kurt frowns.

“They’re smart creatures, but they’re not the most… emotional. Loyalty isn’t going to hold them back when survival’s at stake, Kurt.”

“Even when the whole kingdom’s falling to pieces?!”

She sighs, “Even then. Especially then.”

“But weren’t they kings and queens once?!”

“Yes, in times of peace. In times when _they_ weren’t the ones in danger. There’s a reason the humans took over, Kurt. For as greedy as we are, at least we _care_.”

“Well…” he frowns and considers the idea, “back home surgeons can’t operate on loved ones exactly because they care.”

“What are surgeons?”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “They make injured people better. But that’s not important. What I meant to say is that caring can cloud our judgment. Emotional distance allows cleaner decisions, right? So that more people they can profit from them, rather than just the ones involved.”

“But it also allows for easy detachment,” a voice says from the doorway and Blaine’s leaning against it with a polite smile, “Which in itself, allows for decisions that _only_ profit those who decide. The feeling of community can only be achieved through an emotional bond between everyone in it, including their leader. If its rulers don’t feel like they’re part of a community, then the moment danger comes close is the moment they leave.”

“But if they’re so cold then-“

“Elves make great advisors,” Blaine says at once, “Like you said – their lack of emotion provides them with the appropriate tools to offer a strong, unbiased opinion. But they do not make good leaders.”

“Right…”

“I’m sorry I barged in on your conversation. I was just coming to check if you’ve found the books helpful, which I see you have.”

“Well, yeah… it’s just…”

“Tedious?” Blaine offers with a smile, “I would know.” He sighs and walks over to flip through the pages of the open book.

“I was going to say something more along the lines of overwhelming.” He sighs, “I’d kill for some actual boredom, right now, actually.”

Blaine looks up at him and gives him a small, guilty smile. “I can’t imagine what this feels like for you.”

Kurt huffs bitterly and shrugs, plopping down on the chair by the desk, “Oh, you know, it’s frankly a relief! I don’t have to care about future jobs and somehow paying for my college tuition, anymore! I just have to save a world I didn’t know existed.”

While Rachel just looks at him with a confused stare, Blaine smiles slightly and pats his knee. “You don’t have to save the _world_ , Kurt. Just the kingdom,” he winks and Kurt, for the first time since he got here, can’t help but laugh.

-x-

The next day, Kurt decides to pick up _Magical Creatures and Objects: A Guide_ and head outside to read. He sits on the porch, the maroon cat curled up next to him and head perched on his knee, and opens it on the index trying to look for anything that doesn’t make him want to tear his hair out.

He gasps as he finds a chapter on Portals and immediately jumps to the indicated page. His eyes are hungry as he reads through it. He reads impatiently as it explains how only wizards and witches can open portals, but also how they can store the enchantment in objects so that these can function without the wizard or the witch; how they’re one way only, and that for a return trip one must open a second portal; how the more powerful or skilled the enchanter is, the farther they can make the final destination, the more precise they can be about it, and the longer they can keep the portal open; how international legislation works for portals; how-

“Hey…” Kurt looks up to find Blaine smiling down at him, wet curls falling around his face, and book in hand. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Kurt tries to get his eyes off the curls on Blaine’s forehead and croaks out, “No – no, not at all.”

Blaine grins and sits down on the couch next to Kurt, whose respiratory system is suddenly invaded with a warm cinnamon scent, and twirls his own book in his hands before tilting his head towards Kurt. “So, what’re you reading today?”

Kurt holds up the cover, so Blaine can read.

Blaine smirks and teases, “Freaking out yet? Rachel told me you don’t even have unicorns…”

“We don’t have any magic. At all,” he sighs and Blaine winces, “Actually… Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I was reading about portals…” Kurt sighs, “And… it says a lot of things I don’t understand, but… it… it doesn’t say anything about… worlds… and… inter-world portals, or whatever they’re called.”

Blaine’s smile falters, “Oh, hm, that’s because they don’t exist…? Or… at least we didn’t know they did… until… well, until you showed up three weeks ago.”

“Oh.”

“We never knew where your mother had gone to, that night. We always figured she was hiding you in the woods, or even in another kingdom. We never thought… we didn’t even know there were other worlds, let alone that you’d be there.”

“So…” Kurt starts in a small voice, “the chances of me going back…?”

Blaine, Kurt thinks, does a good job of hiding his disappointment (not perfect, though, Kurt can still catch its flicker across Blaine’s eyes). “I… I’m not sure, Kurt. I… the witch that opened your mother’s portal – she’s still alive, but she’s the court enchanter, she works for the regime, and they keep her pretty much locked up.” He sighs, “She’s probably the most powerful enchanter alive, but… I don’t know if…”

“But if she’s… what do you mean she works for the regime?! She saved my mom. She’s… she’s good, right?” ~~~~

Blaine smiled sadly, “Yes, she’s a good person… but there are always ways to force the kindest of us to do the worst things.”

“Oh?”

“They have her family.” He shrugs.

“Oh.” Kurt frowns, “But… if… if we could reach her… and her family wasn’t a problem… do you think she could… get me home?”

“I don’t know, Kurt… I suppose it’s your best shot, but…”

Kurt just nods and there’s a long silence between them. Maybe it’s that he feels Blaine’s disappointment washing over him, that seems so much stronger than Rachel’s (not in quantity but in quality), maybe it’s his own sense of guilt, maybe it’s a newborn part of himself that doesn’t want to be associated with disloyal and cold-hearted elves. But suddenly he needs to fill the silence with an explanation.

“I… I had a plan, back home, Blaine. I had things,” he says, and his voice comes out pleading, and part of himself repeats that that’s stupid, that he doesn’t owe them _anything_ , but another – the one that’s speaking – needs him to understand, “I mean… I wasn’t exactly in a good place, no… My mom died when I was eight, and my dad just died a few months ago, so that’s… yeah,” he shrugs and swallows the lump in his throat. “But I was… I was going to live with my dad’s aunt in New York, and, okay, it was _not_ how I’d planned it, but … at least it was New York. At least it was the city I’d always dreamed of living in. Maybe going to live there with her I could still do the things I’d always wanted to do, I could make my parents proud. I could maybe… still be who I was supposed to be. Who I wanted to be.

“And I was practically done with high school – it was hell, but I survived it, and I was _this_ close to going to college, Blaine. College in New York! One more year and I was going to meet civilized people! People who read books, and watched European movies, people with whom I could have hour-long conversations about something other than football. I was done with Ohio, and college in New York would be my life in just half a year.

“And then I was… going to meet someone at college, someone special, and I was going to get married before I was thirty, and have a family, and an amazing apartment with a view of the whole city – because white picket fences are _so_ unoriginal -, and I’d have a good job, and I’d be successful at it – whether singing on Broadway or designing my own line of clothes, I’d be out there in the world, making a name for myself… I’d…. be _someone_ , Blaine. And… I knew how to get there, I knew. I… I had – _have_ , I have a life there. I have things, waiting for me. Things I want to do and try. Things I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I fought for those… I can’t just… I can’t just leave and… forget about it.”

He sighs as he finally stops talking. Blaine is looking at him with sympathy. Kurt’s surprised to find no trace of disappointment there. He wonders if there ever was at all, if maybe he’d projected it.

“Kurt… I…” he takes a deep breath, “Listen, there’s nothing I can tell you that won’t seem like I’m just dismissing what happened to you, Kurt. But you need to know, I’m really not. I’ve told you before, and it still remains: I can’t begin to understand how you must be feeling right now.”

“Okay…?”

“But… I think I should warn you that… well… I’m not sure what everyone else is thinking right now. But there were expectations, Kurt. There was… hope.”

“That I’d save you…?”

“That you’d want to.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt sighs, hanging his head.

Blaine squeezes his hand, “It’s not your fault.”

-x-

The next day, Kurt is taking a break from reading, walking around through the fields when he sees them. He only recognizes them because of Puck’s mohawk and Quinn’s shiny blonde hair. They’re up ahead, the eight of them, split into pairs and fighting each other. He frowns and wonders if he should go away – maybe there’s a mutiny going on. But the whole thing looks so organized he dismisses the idea at once, and decides to look a little closer.

Mike is fighting Tina, which is bizarre because Kurt could’ve sworn they were making out on the couch last night. Puck is fighting Finn, and between Puck’s ferocity and Finn’s sheer size, Kurt’s not sure he’s ever seen such an intimidating fight. Sam’s fighting Quinn, which makes Kurt almost laugh because it looks a bit like Barbie and Ken are having a domestic dispute. And finally, Kurt tries not to stare too much when he sees Blaine fighting Santana. She’s a real firecracker, fierce and unforgiving, and while Blaine manages to block every blow she delivers, he can’t ever get an offense.

Kurt gasps when she goes for Blaine’s groin, but suddenly she’s thrown backwards, flying at least five feet and landing in an ungraceful heap. She barely even blinks before she’s up again. “Not fair! That’s cheating!”

“You went for the goods!” Blaine counters with a laugh.

“In real life they go for the goods!” she throws back at him with a teasing drawl.

“In real life they go for the shields!” he responds just as teasing.

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and assumes a fighting position before, without warning, throwing a punch at Blaine’s face.

“What the hell Santana?!” he gaps, clutching his chin.

“In real life they don’t give heads up.”

Blaine mumbles something under his breath before he rolls his shoulders and assumes position again and, like Santana, goes right into fighting – only she’s ready.

“KURT!” Kurt snaps his head to find Puck beaming, Finn’s head in a headlock under his arm.

“Oh, hey dude!” Finn grins, wiggling out of Puck’s hold.

“Hi…” Kurt says warily.

“Do you wanna have a round with me?” Pucks beams, holding up his fists and punching the air playfully.

“Hmm… I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“We’re training hand to hand combat,” Quinn supplies, having seen Kurt’s unvoiced question in his expression, “You’re welcome to join us…”

“I’m… not… I… that’s not really my thing…” he crinkles his nose in distaste.

“Oh.” Sam smiles. “So what do you do? Swords, right? My kind of man!” he winks and Kurt wonders if that was an innuendo. He hopes not.

“Hum… I dance…?”

“What?”

“You mean… like… dancing…. With music?” Puck frowns.

“Yes. With music, yeah.” Kurt nods, trying to remain indifferent to the looks of not only confusion but also disbelief on everyone’s faces.

“Oh, fuck this shit.” Santana sighs, taking off towards the house. “He’s useless! We’re so completely screwed.”

“Santana!” Blaine scowls after her, and it’s the first time Kurt’s seen him look something close to angry. He watches them leave with a sort of sinking feeling to his stomach. It appears that they don’t even need to know he doesn’t want to help to feel disappointed in him.

“Please excuse Santana.” Kurt turns to find Tina next to him, “She has the gift of excessive honesty. Sometimes we wish she didn’t. At some point it’s not even honesty, it’s just being plain mean.” ~~~~

“It’s fine…” he shrugs, trying not to look as miserable as he feels.

“No, it’s not,” Quinn says, “She’s right, isn’t she? He doesn’t want to help, and even if he did, he can’t even fight!”

“So we teach him!” Mike argues.

“We’ve been doing this for years!” Quinn insists, “You think we’re gonna snap our fingers and get him battle-ready?!”

“Not everything has to happen in battle, Quinn,” Tina steps towards her with a tone a lot less gentle than the one she used on Kurt. “He’s se-”

“ _He_ is right here, you know?!” Kurt interrupts, face red with anger and annoyance. “If you’re gonna treat me like some glorified chess piece, at least have the decency to acknowledge me,” he spits out before turning on his heel and following in Santana and Blaine’s footsteps, ignoring their calls for him.

He passes Blaine, who’s coming back down the hill, but continues in a fast pace towards the house.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks as they cross each other, “Kurt?! What’s wrong?!” he calls after him.

Luckily, Blaine takes the hint and doesn’t follow him. For the first time, Kurt manages to find his bedroom without ever taking a wrong turn or opening a wrong door. He slams the door closed and dives for the bed. Not the most mature display of emotions, but it would have to do.

At least their stupidity made it a little bit easier for him to refuse helping them, didn’t it?! How could they just stand there and expect him to save them if they refused to see _him_? Of course they had expectations, but who were they to blame and judge him for not meeting them?! The whole thing made his blood boil. For eighteen years of his life he had never once been asked to save a country (up until recently, even if he’d wanted to, the USA army would have refused his help, unless he lied by omission), let alone that he’d _have_ to. So why should he feel guilty about refusing to do so, when the request suddenly comes?

There’s a knock at the door and Kurt’s about to growl for them to go away, when it’s opened anyway and Santana comes in.

Kurt watches her carefully as she sits on the desk, pushing the pile of books away from her.

“I was eight when I became an orphan.”

Kurt doesn’t have words to respond to that so he just stares at her.

“My dad was a member of the parliament. He was nobleman. His name… Well, his name will go down in history as one of the conspirators that killed your father, but he wasn’t. He was innocent. They tried to get his help, of course, but he refused. He knew what they were planning, and he knew what would come of it, so he took my mom, who was pregnant with me, and my older sister and moved to the countryside, away from everything else. I remember the big backyard, and playing hide and seek with my family, and… it was a pretty amazing life. We managed to live there for eight years before they found us.”

She pauses, taking a deep breath and rolling her eyes as if she’s talking about a haircut gone wrong.

“I don’t know what they were hoping to get out of his death, especially eight years later… but… one night we were having dinner and there’s a loud crash at the front door. He must’ve known they’d come back one day, because he didn’t even try to guess what it was, he just knew. He made my mom and us go upstairs and hide, and then there was shouting and a gunshot and the shouting stopped.”

She swallows, still doing her best at looking unaffected.

“Mom was just done hiding us in her closet when they came upstairs. There was a crack in the closet’s door and I could see her getting shot. So I scream – I’m eight years old, of course I scream. And before I know it, my sister is shoving me to the darkest corner. They didn’t even notice me when they grabbed her out of the closet and killed her. They didn’t notice that the dinner table was set for four. They didn’t know I existed – we’d left before my mom’s belly was showing, so they didn’t know.”

She takes a long breath and looks Kurt right in the eye.

“So, I was eight years old when they killed my family. My sister was eighteen. She was in love with some kid from the village, and she was going on her first date with him the next day.” She shrugs. “I know you feel like you had your dreams taken away, Kurt, and I guess I’m sorry for that. But here… we don’t even get to have dreams anymore. If we do, we just end up disappointed every time.”

“Santana…” Kurt gasps, trying not to let his voice waver. “I’m… I’m really sorry,” he manages, “But… I’ve never… I never even thought of something like this… I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. I design clothes in my spare time, and I sing too much to be considered healthy… You can’t just expect me to… drop who I am for you…”

She nods. “I don’t. _I_ wouldn’t either,” she shrugs. “But maybe you could still have your life back.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. You need the court’s witch. She’s in the castle. Along with every single son of a bitch who ruined this kingdom. As long as they have her, she can’t help you. Helping us defeat them is your best shot at going back.”


	5. Kurt Hummel

Kurt goes back to his insomnia that night. Santana’s voice is on repeat inside his head. She’s right. Helping them is, apparently, his only shot at going back home.

He pours over the books – tries desperately to find antecedents of it happening, and finds nothing. Not even in other kingdoms.

At crack of dawn he’s slammed the books closed and resumed to pacing back and forth in his room. In his head his thoughts are a jumbled mess until the only thing he can make out is his mother’s voice saying, “You have your father’s eyes” and it makes him stop in his tracks. His eyes well up with tears as he realizes that no part of his childhood will ever be safe from this again.

Before he knows it he’s bursting through Blaine’s door and the boy startles in his bed. “Wasswrong?!” he mumbles, hurriedly grabbing for something on his bedside table yanking the top drawer open and Kurt sees a gun. He practically shrieks, “Nothing!” He clears his throat, “Nothing’s wrong, Blaine. It’s just me.”

Blaine sniffs adorably a couple of times as he rubs his eyes open and then squints at Kurt, half confused, half clearly still sleeping. Without warning, the maroon cat jumps off the dresser and starts purring against Kurt’s legs. Kurt manages not to jump or scream this time, but he really wants to tell it to stop doing that already.

He looks back to Blaine, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s fine…” He says, sighing and then yawning, letting his head fall back against the pillow but keeping his eyes on Kurt, “Is everything alright?”

“No.” Kurt sighs, “I… I just…” he stops himself and recollects his thoughts, “What was my biological father’s name?”

Blaine frowns for a second before saying, “Richard of Curtill.”

“Oh.”

There’s a long silence in which Kurt just stands there contemplating the fact that he had a father whose name was Richard. Richard of Curtill. He can’t quite get his head around it. It feels so… random.

“What’s wrong?” he’s startled to find he didn’t even notice Blaine getting up and moving to stand next to him, pulling on a soft robe over his bare torso and underwear.

“Oh… I’m just… I’m just having an existential crisis,” he stutters, “Don’t mind me, I’m fine.”

“Those are the worst.” Blaine offers sympathetically, with a smile.

“Wait.” Kurt gasps, something clicking in his head, “Does that make me Kurt of Curtill?”

Blaine laughs – actually laughs – before squeezing Kurt’s shoulder. “In your mother’s defense, I don’t think she was expecting you to come back either.”

“Yeah, well, she did take a lot of liberties there, didn’t she?” he says, half bitter, “I can’t… I can’t stop remembering every little thing she told me, and… it… it just feels wrong. It feels like my whole childhood I was being lied to. I feel cheated.”

“Kurt…” Blaine looks at him with the kindest eyes Kurt’s ever seen, and the hand that’s on his shoulder comes down to squeeze his own. “She just wanted you to be happy, and safe… I’m sure she didn’t mean to lie to you.”

“Just not tell me the truth…”

“And have you go and tell all the other kids that you were a prince from another world? You were a child – she couldn’t have told you, Kurt. Not without getting everyone to think you were both crazy.”

It’s a reasonable argument, but somehow not nearly enough to unclench his heart. “And yet… here I am, eighteen years old, finding out my dad’s not my biological father, and that one’s dead, anyway… so still no family for me. And apparently I have a country to save, and it’s… it’s… it’s pretty fucking hard, it’s what it is.”

“It’s not her fault, Kurt.” Blaine counters with a soft voice, “She probably did the best she could. I’m sure she tried to make everything okay. She couldn’t have known you’d come back like this any more than you did.”

Kurt lets his shoulders drop and hangs his head, “I know… I just… I need someone to be angry at… and Santana’s not an option anymore.”

Blaine gives him a small sad smile before taking his hand and saying, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Kurt lets him take him down to the conference room where he’d been on his first day in the house. “I’ve seen this room, Blaine. I’ve been here,” he says.

“You’re impatient, Kurt of Curtill.” Blaine scolds him with a smirk and Kurt rolls his eyes while he’s pulled closer to the wall, lined with maps and pictures. “This is Dalton.” Blaine says, his finger on the center of the map. “It’s the capital. It’s also where the castle is, and where your fa- where King Richard was killed.” Kurt thanks him silently for recognizing that he might not be ready to consider him his father just yet. “That night, they blamed it on this man.” He points to a picture up on the far left of the wall. It’s a handsome man with piercing blue eyes. There’s a cross next to his face. “He was an elf.” Lord of the Rings kind of elf, then. Good to know. “So they killed him, publicly of course. They also killed everyone that supposedly helped him within a month.” Blaine gestured to about twenty pictures under it. “They were all elves.” He adds, “They said that the magical creatures were planning a coup d’état and that the elves were in charge of it. So, naturally, they go for everyone else that had liaisons with magical creatures or their issues…” He gestures to another group of pictures. “Some of these were noblemen, most were members of the chamber of people, though.”

“Alright… but, I already knew this, Blaine.”

Blaine nods. “Once all the _alleged_ culprits were arrested and or executed and the martial law wasn’t lifted, everyone started to get a little suspicious, until finally, word got out that it hadn’t been the elves to kill the king. There had been no coup d’état in the making between the magical creatures.

“You know… when you try to take over a country… first you have to give the people something to be afraid of – something you can protect them from.” Blaine points at all the pictures of the murdered people, “They will give you everything they have. So that one day, when that threat is gone, _you_ will have everything to threaten them with – and they will fear _you_.”

Kurt feels a horrible chill cross his whole body.

Blaine moves towards the right side of the wall. “These people did it. They’re all noblemen – although I’m not sure they qualify as such on the actual nobility front.” He turned to the picture that was highest of all, “That’s their leader. Currently acting as Commander in Chief. That’s the one who rallied them up; promised them power and money and lands. That’s the one who hired the mercenaries that killed King Richard and the entire blue blood line. Well, except you.”

Kurt looks long and hard at the man. His face is strong. His dark hair is cut short. His eyes are shadowy but focused. His jaw is set. His lips don’t have the smallest hint of smile. He looks ruthless.

“What’s his name?” Kurt asks, after a long stretch of silence. His voice comes out weak.

“John.” Blaine says, his own voice hard, unlike Kurt’s ever heard it.

He turns to Blaine and studies him. The way he’s not looking at the picture, like it disgusts him; the way he’s holding his robe too tight over his body. “John what?” he prompts meekly.

Blaine frowns, twisting his lips before he mutters “John Anderson.”

“John Anderson…” Kurt feels the name on his tongue. It feels strange.

Blaine is standing there, looking at the wall, but not at the picture, and the air feels so incredibly tense you could cut it with a _nylon thread_.

“So, now I know who to blame…” Kurt offers with as light a tone as he can manage. It might actually be the first time he’s the one trying to make Blaine snap out of his thoughts.

Blaine turns to him and nods, “Now you know.”

Unfortunately Blaine goes back to his silence and Kurt’s left there wanting to say something, but not sure what. Finally he settles for, “Are you okay?”

“What? Oh!” Blaine sighs, “I… Yeah, sure… I just… I don’t do well with him.”

“I don’t think anyone in this house does, Blaine.” Kurt shrugs sympathetically.

“But I – huh… I just… Yeah. No, right, no, they don’t. We don’t.” He smiles back and then takes a deep breath and seems to get his head together because his warmth is back and he’s heading towards the door, “So, how’s that existential crisis? Better?”

“A little bit, yes.” Kurt nods and follows him outside, nearly falling flat on his face as he trips over the small cat, “Jesus Christ!”

“What?!” Blaine asks with a laugh bending over to catch it in his arms. Immediately it curls up in his hold like it was made to be there.

“It’s… hum… it’s an expression.” He explains as he recomposes himself, trying to get his heart to a normal beat again and wondering if that cat’s ever going to stop scaring the living shit out of him.

“Jesus Christ?” Blaine checks and Kurt nods, “What’s it mean?”

“Pretty much anything.” He shrugs with a questioning look, trying to find a way to explain it, “It’s… technically, it’s the name of… huh… well… allegedly it was god’s son… but he was supposed to be god, too, because they were one, and I really suck at explaining this because I don’t believe in god and I stopped going to church when I was ten. But he was just some guy who lived like two thousand years ago, and he _allegedly_ did some miracles and everyone believed him when he said he was god’s son – like biological son, not just metaphorically like everybody else-, and then he died for everyone’s sins, and then he came back to life, and I’m not sure what he did after that or how he died again, if he did, but he basically got a religion created after him, which was Christianity, and hum… it’s like the biggest religion back home… and two thousand years later people are still really big fans of his work…”

“And so you call out his name when you’re tripping over a cat?” Blaine frowns amused.

“I… guess…? I don’t know who started it… but it’s just like saying ‘Oh my god!’ or ‘heavens, I’m so surprised!’”

“Do you actually say that?”

“What?”

Blaine puts a flimsy hand to his chest and sighs in a high voice, like an old woman, “Heavens, I’m so surprised!”

Kurt shoves at his shoulder, his cheeks growing hot, “Shut up, you know what I meant!”

Blaine laughs and bumps their shoulders before saying “Oh heavens, you caught me!”

“I will punch you in your sleep! You and your stupid cat!”

Blaine only laughs harder and then brings the cat closer to Kurt’s face, “Would you? Would you, really? Would you punch this precious little creature?” Blaine shoves it closer in all its glory of wide honey colored eyes and pink little snout, “Would you really punch little miss cat over here?” Blaine takes the cat’s paw and bops Kurt’s nose with it. It takes a lot out of Kurt not to giggle, or smile or laugh.

Kurt shoots him a fake glare instead, but doesn’t respond until they’ve reached the stairs, “What’s her name?”

“Cat.” Blaine shrugs.

“That’s her name?”

“Yeah.”

“You named your cat Cat?”

“Well, it’s a cat.” Blaine says like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“But isn’t she your cat?”

Blaine gives him a small frown, and scrunches up his nose as he shakes his head, “I don’t own her… We’re… partners. I don’t feel comfortable naming her anything else. If she doesn’t get to name me, I don’t get to name her. I don’t really look like a Meow, anyway.”

Kurt laughs, probably too loudly given that it’s barely dawn and everyone’s asleep, and then there’s a connection in his mind and he just stops halfway up the stairs to look at Blaine.

“What?” Blaine squirms, Cat still in his arms.

“In one of my favorite movies back home, the main character had a cat. She didn’t give it a name either, just called him cat. And I know this quote by heart so listen carefully: _The way I see it I haven't got the right to give him one. We don't belong to each other. We just took up one day by the river. I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together_.”

Blaine smiles cheerfully at him and starts back up the stairs, “Well…” he says, “We do belong with each other. Just not _to_ each other. There is a difference between belonging with and belonging to.”

“What’s that?”

“Freedom. Choice.” Blaine shrugs as they reach the top of the stairs, “Breakfast?”

Kurt nods and follows him to the kitchen, where Blaine starts moving around finding bread and milk and putting a kettle on, “So, what’s a movie, anyway?”

Kurt freezes for just a second – maybe it’ll get easier, realizing that some things might be gone forever – before he sighs miserably, “You don’t have those either?”

Blaine turns to face him and his smile disappears as soon as he catches sight of Kurt. He slowly shakes his head, “Were they… important?”

Kurt laughs bitterly, “They were to me… I could just sit in front of the TV and disappear off into their world for two hours and forget all about mine.” He frowns, “Ironic, when I think about it now.”

Blaine sends him a sympathetic smile before cringing and asking “And what’s a TV?”

“It’s… an electric device… where you can watch movies, and other stuff.”

“Oh, not a portal, then.”

“Definitely not. It’s like a framed painting… only the images move. And make sounds… A movie is kind of like putting a book and a picture together. It’s telling a story not through words but through images and sounds.”

“Oh! Like a play?” Blaine sighs.

“Yes! You have those?!” Kurt sighs in relief.

Blaine just grins and nods.

“It’s just like a play, but… it’s not on a stage, per se… Because you film it with a camera you can do it anywhere, really. If the story was set in the open sea, then the movie would be filmed in the open sea!”

“Sounds terrific.” He picks up two plates with toasted bread on them and the butter and puts them on the table, before grabbing two glasses and the milk. He pours each of them a glass and sits down, “And the one about the cat, that was your favorite?”

“One of them.” Kurt corrects, “And it wasn’t about the cat. It was a love story. About a woman who couldn’t commit to anything or anyone, only money and… _stuff_ , and then she met this guy, a penniless writer who worked as a gigolo – which is a male prostitute – for extra cash, so he’s not really her _type_ … but they were perfect together. And in the end she committed to him.” He sighs, wishing he could’ve at least seen it one more time. “And kept the cat.”

Blaine laughs, “Sounds delightful. What _is_ your favorite then?”

Kurt can’t help but giggle and shake his head at that, “I couldn’t possibly pick _one_ , Blaine! There are thousands of movies!”

Blaine leans forward, chin on his hand and eyes bright, “I’m listening…”

Kurt looks at him for a moment, not quite sure what he should say or do, but then he beams and tries not to sound too much like a fanboy as he just starts talking about all his favorite movies at once. And Blaine actually listens, and laughs at all the right times, and scowls when he’s supposed to, and swoons whenever it’s soon worthy, and… just listens, like he actually cares.

Kurt’s so busy trying to articulate a thousand different thoughts at once that he doesn’t even stop to realize that, for the first time in forever they’re happy thoughts. For the first time since he got here, there’s a bubbling in his chest and he feels good. Just sitting here, talking to Blaine about movies and being heard and humored so promptly. He finally feel feels like himself.

They stay like that for what Kurt imagines is hours, until people start getting up and coming to eat breakfast, too, and Blaine explains excitedly to each one of them what a movie is, and how sometimes people sing in them, and _doesn’t that sound wonderful?_

Soon, Rachel, Mercedes and Tina are sitting with them, listening to every word out of Kurt’s mouth, and then he isn’t just talking about movies. He’s telling them about Broadway, and Barbra Streisand and Whitney Huston, and Lady Gaga. He’s telling them about fashion shows, and nightclubs and the Internet. Before long the whole house is listening to him talk about his world, and the life he had.

For the first time, he thinks they might be seeing Kurt Hummel instead of the promise of a hero.

But, also for the first time, if Rachel were to ask him if he misses home, he would’ve undoubtedly said yes.

-x-

“Santana.” Kurt calls that night as he catches sight of her in the long corridor to his bedroom.

She turns to face him, “Yeah?”

“About what you said… I… I think you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” She scoffs.

“And I want… I need to go back home.” He breathes, “And… I’ll… I’ll do whatever it takes. So, I realize I should probably … learn to do something other than dance…”

“You probably should…” she says, clearly holding back a smirk.

“Do you want to help me?”

She quirks an eyebrow, “Aren’t you and Blaine like best friends now?”

“Oh… huh…”

“Never mind. I’m not the best teacher to start with. Neither is he. Come with me.” She grabs his wrist and pulls him to the living room, where almost everyone is still lounging after dinner.

“Mike, Kurt wants to learn how to fight. I figure he should probably start with you.” Mike and pretty much everyone else stop to look at them with wide eyes.

“He’ll help?” Tina gasps, slipping off Mike’s lap with a grin.

“ _I’ll_ help.” Kurt corrects. “You need to start acknowledging _me._ ” he says, his hands only shaking a little as he tries not to twist his fingers nervously, “Me as in Kurt Hummel, and not some kind of prophesized messiah. I’m not a custom made hero, I’m an actual person and I’m not just going to be everything you’ve ever dreamed of, so quit acting like that. I didn’t dream of being forcibly transported to some strange new world at war and being forced to fight for its freedom, or whatever, and yet here I am. The longer you treat me like a stupid, disappointing glorified toy, the less likely I am to like you and want to help you. And the faster you understand I never even dreamed of being put in this situation, the faster we can start working things out. Maybe that way we’ll be able to get over your disappointment and my PTSD, and make some actual progress. Okay?”

Faces look at him, silent and a little shocked, apparently left speechless. Will is scratching the back of his neck with a guilty look to his face; Finn is frowning in deep confusion; Puck is giving him a look of half-respect; Quinn has an eyebrow quirked but no expression besides that; Tina is looking properly chastised and Mike is smiling softly; Rachel looks like she’s witnessing a particularly interesting but horrifying fight; Mercedes looks ready to gossip about it at once; Sam looks mostly confused but amused; Santana is smirking and, finally, next to her Blaine has a hand on his mouth, trying to conceal his grin.

“That, huh, sounds like a good plan.” Will finally breaks the silence. “And I guess maybe we should make sure you can handle yourself in battle, first. But I still really think you should get acquainted with our library, too. Artie can help you with that.” ~~~~

“Okay…”

“So, maybe Mike can start helping you tomorrow morning, and then afterwards you can go see Artie?”

“Hum… sure.” He nods and, with a fleeting glance at everyone, he leaves to his bedroom, where he grabs a book at random and starts reading about unicorns.

There’s a knock on the door and Rachel inches it open. “May I?” she asks just as Cat slips inside and immediately curls on Kurt’s bed.

“Of course.”

“You were good just now.” She nods, her eyes filled with something like respect.

“Thanks.”

“And I’m glad to hear you’ll help us.”

“Well… it’s… it’s not exactly selfless, Rachel.”

“You’re hoping to get to the court witch and ask her to go back home?” He nods and she shrugs, “I’m still glad.” There’s a beat of silence and then, “What’s PTSD?”

“Huh, post traumatic stress disorder. It’s like… when you go through something really bad, and you get traumatized and then anything that reminds you of it, or whatever, just sets you off and without even realizing, you’re curling up on the ground and whimpering. Or killing someone.. or… I dunno, just… not in control of yourself, you know?” Kurt finishes awkwardly.

Rachel frowns slightly, examining Kurt’s face carefully, “You don’t seem out of control… I don’t think you have PTSD.”

Kurt chuckles bitterly and shrugs, “Yeah, I guess not… somehow.” He sighs and decides to change the conversation, “So Mike’s the teacher, huh? Did he teach all of you?”

“What? No, not at all… He’s just… he’s going to help you find your center, and connect with your body, be one with it, so you can move faster and better. Find balance easily, and… control yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Then Puck will teach you hand to hand combat, because he’s the best at it, and then Sam will teach you sword fighting, and Quinn will handle the shooting…”

“Oh! So everyone has a specialty?”

Rachel considers it for a moment before smiling and shrugging, “Maybe in a way… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it that way. Anyway, like I told you, I’m also in training, so if you need a partner who’s not as… advanced as they are, I’m happy to help.” She grins, and he can’t help smiling back, “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you how happy I was to hear you’ve decided to help, and I’ll get out of your hair now.”

Kurt stops himself from asking her what Blaine’s specialty is, and instead watches her go and berates himself on his complete idiocy. This is not the time to develop or even entertain the idea of a crush. Kurt turns back to his book. He flips the pages, deciding Unicorns aren’t all that exciting or interesting, until he finds something better.

Two animal creatures later he finds ENCHANTER. Kurt groans and berates himself for not reading this before – maybe this has something about those who can open inter-world portals.

“ _There are several types of enchanters. In any type the enchanter can be more or less powerful._

 _There are those who can heal injuries or illnesses – and so are called **Healers**. They can only help a victim who is willing and grateful, which is why both victim and healer have to partake in the ritual_.”

Emma was a healer, and so was Joe, and he’d have to ask Mercedes, but he thinks he’s seen her taking care of Puck’s nose one morning so it’s a big possibility.

“ _There are those who can tell time – the **Time-Tellers** – although their powers are very reduced. Most of them can only see a person or an object’s past, upon direct physical contact. Some can tell the future – but no one’s been known to find more than a glance into it, a misty impression of something, always pertaining the person or the object they are touching. And even less can prophesize the future, going into trance and acting as a mere vessel for whatever information comes their way, entirely unable to control what, when or where._ ~~~~

“ _And finally, and most importantly, there are the **Wizards** and **Witches**. The most powerful of the enchanters for they can do almost anything, having very few limitations to their powers: they cannot change forms, tell time (even though the more powerful wizards or witches will, with great skill, be able to see certain memories at forefront of a person’s mind, and, at times, even manipulate, create or erase them), or heal. They also cannot create or destroy matter, but, if they’re a fully formed and trained enchanter, they can transport it somewhere else, or manipulate it into other things. Of course there are very few, and even less who can achieve full potential, but when they do they can bend and shape matter to their will, they can control the elements, they can open portals, they can store their enchantments in objects so that those who are not them can profit from their magic, they can shield themselves and others, they_ -“

Wait. What?

Kurt frowns, but shakes his head and keeps reading over lists and lists of amazing powers.

“ _The wizard or the witch will have a totem that contains their power and all of their abilities: an animal that lives with the enchanter in complete harmony_.”

Kurt’s heart starts hammering inside his chest.

“ _The animal will normally find its wizard or witch at around five or six years of age – the earlier, the more powerful the enchanter will be – and never separate again, forging an unbreakable bond between enchanter and totem. The relationship between an enchanter and their totem is of symbiosis. If the totem is killed the enchanter will lose their powers, if the enchanter dies the totem will also die (and those are the only two ways of a totem dying, as it never ages or suffers sickness); sometimes the totem can be used to ascertain the well-being or emotional state of the enchanter, as it is somewhat of a mirror to their soul, feeling just as fiercely whatever emotions are upon the enchanter. Given that magical abilities have never once been shown without the totem having already found its enchanter, many believe that the totem chooses the person they find worthy of their magic and gift them with it._ ”

Chooses. _Chooses_.

Kurt pushes the book away from himself, not bothering to read about the training of enchanters.

“Oh my god!” He gasps, “Oh my god.” He stands “Oh my god!” He needs to find someone and ask them if this is true. He yanks the door open only to find _Blaine_ , of all people, walking toward the far end of the corridor, a sandwich in his hand and plate on the other, chewing and humming to himself. “Oh my god!”

Blaine freezes mid bite and looks over at Kurt with wide, confused eyes.

“Oh my god!”

“Kurt?”

“You-I-wha-oh my god.”

“Kurt?”

“You’re a wizard?” he finally manages to breathe out.

Blaine looks a little stunned for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Hum… yeah…?” he says like it’s that obvious, “And so is Will…”

“What?! No he isn’t!”

“Huh… yes, he is.”

“No! He d-doesn’t… he doesn’t have a cat…”

“No, he doesn’t.” Blaine turns completely towards Kurt, stepping closer, “Not every wizard’s totem is a cat… Will’s is a dog and Tina’s was a blackbird.”

“Tina is a witch?!”

“Was.” Blaine corrects with a tight smile.

“Oh.”

“It was a while ago. She’s fine, now.” Blaine says.

“But you and Will… you’re wizards? Like… actual…honest to g-”

Blaine snaps his fingers and the whole corridor goes dark. He snaps them again and the balls of light Kurt hadn’t even noticed weren’t light bulbs light up again.

“Oh…” Kurt gasps, trying not to freak out too much. He swallows and closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and tries his best to shrug (it probably comes off as a nervous twitch of some kind). “That – that – that’s nothing. We have that back home too. But usually it-t’s clapping.”

Blaine smirks, “Right. I’ll try to be more adventurous next time, then.” He says before turning and going back the way he’d been headed, taking a bite of his sandwich, plate floating after him. Kurt could swear he heard chuckling.

Kurt’s left standing there and staring after him with his heart in his throat and eyes bulging out their sockets.

There’s a bump against his leg and he screams and jumps against the wall. “God!” he gasps, clutching his chest as he stares at Cat, happily purring with its little tail in the air as she playfully bumps into his legs again and twirls around on the floor. “Will you stop doing that?!” he whimpers, before, somehow, finding himself laughing

-x-

Kurt is lying on cold, winter hardened grass gasping for breath. It’s probably freezing around him, and yet he’s never felt hotter (like in the actual thermic sense, and not the sexual one) and there’s sweat running down his whole body. He blinks away the stinging from the sweat getting into his eye and tries not to think about how red his face probably is.

“You should come inside, Kurt.” Mike’s voice says from above and Kurt opens his eyes to find Mike looking down at him with amusement. “If you let your sweat cool on your body you’ll catch a cold.”

“Right…” Kurt sighs.

Mike holds out a hand for him and he accepts it after he summons enough energy to reach for it. Kurt grunts as Mike really _does_ pull him up.

They make their way up the hill and inside the house. Kurt tries to ignore the way Santana and Puck sprint by – coming back from their own practice – looking just as fresh and energetic as two kids on sugar highs.

“You did good.” Mike says halfway up.

“What?” Kurt groans, “You’re kidding right?”

“No, really.” Mike nods. “You have great flexibility, and you’re actually pretty in tune with your body, Kurt.”

“Yes! And right now, it’s telling me that I need to lie very, very still for exactly forty seven days.”

Mike laughs and opens the front door for Kurt. “A shower will make you feel better.”

“Ugh. That implies standing on my feet for an extended period of time.”

“Why don’t you go and ask if Blaine wants to help you? I’m sure you’d find _standing_ a lot easier that way.” Santana’s voice drawls and he looks to find her smirking, leaning against the back of the couch sipping on a glass of water, a single drop of sweat on her temple marring her otherwise post-practice perfect appearance.

Kurt’s face is already burning so that’s a good thing, and he hopes Santana can’t actually hear his heart beating furiously against his chest, like it’s trying to escape out of embarrassment. “… what?”

“ _Santana_!” Mike hisses, his own face suddenly flushed.

“What? It’s just a joke.” She rolls her eyes, and Puck’s head appears from the couch with his own grin and offers her a high five.

“I… Bla… we… not…”

“Don’t acknowledge her, Kurt. The more affected you let her see you, the worse she’ll be.” Mike mutters looking mildly annoyed. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all.” He adds as he gently guides Kurt out of the living room.

“ _I’m_ not trying to get a _rise_ out of anyone.” She calls after them and there’s the distinct noise of Puck cackling and high fiving her again.

Kurt throws a pained glance at Mike, receiving an understanding smile in return, before disappearing into his bedroom to collect clean clothes and a towel.

As he showers, he squints his eyes closed and tries not to let Santana’s teasing get to him. Did they already know he was gay? Was she _mocking_ him for it? Should he just come out and say it? Lay it all out and let them know he doesn’t care about what they think?

Except he kind of does.

God. This is going to be High School in Lima, Ohio all over again, isn’t it? He’s going to be stuck in a place with people who disapprove of his sexuality with no other option, isn’t he? He was just about to get out of there, he was going to go to a place where it didn’t matter, where people wouldn’t look twice at him for being gay.

He tries not to let himself get carried away in anxiety again. He’s only just got his sanity back; he doesn’t need to lose it all over again, over something he’s known how to deal with his whole life.

“Head held high, Hummel, head held high.” He tells his reflection, as he wraps a towel around himself.

Finally he gets dressed, making sure the shirt is properly tucked in and wishing he at least had some pins to fit it properly, and heads toward the living room, doing his best at keeping a straight face and impeccable posture.

At lunch, he sits as far away from Santana as possible, even if she seems so deep in conversation with Blaine she doesn’t even glance at him. Kurt wants to growl at the sight, and it takes all of his willpower to resolutely ignore her and her laughter (are they talking about him? Is she telling Blaine she thinks Kurt likes him?! Are they making fun of him for it?!).

“I’m gay.”

Oh my god. He just blurted it out, didn’t he?

He resists the urge to sink down his chair under the table, and dig a hole through the hardwood floor.

Everyone’s looking at him expectantly, and he supposes he probably should say something. “I don’t know how you feel about that, here, but I honestly don’t care. I’m gay, I’m proud of it, I’m… I’m... I just, I can’t and I won’t change for anyone, so… just deal with it.” He finishes proudly (or at least attempting so).

“Oh.” Will finally says, “I… Just to be clear gay as in… huh, homosexual?”

“No, gay as in super happy, can’t you see my smile?” Kurt frowns, “Yes, of course gay as in homosexual.” ~~~~

“Oh.” Seems about the general reaction around the table, even though no one looks particularly surprised, least of all Santana who’s barely trying to keep her laughter somewhat discreet.

“Point is, I like men, and back home that was… a delicate issue, and not everyone… most people, actually, didn’t think very highly of me because of that, so… I’m not sure where you stand on that, but regardless of it I won’t change for anyone.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to change, either way, Kurt.” Rachel says, next to him. She takes his hand and squeezes. “We don’t care about that in this house.”

“Yeah.” Finn nods enthusiastically, “We’re super fine with it, man!”

Kurt just nods, tries not to blush too much and turns back to his food, pushing it around the plate – suddenly not hungry anymore – before not resisting the urge to ask in a small voice, “And… outside?... outside of this house?”

There’s a long silence before Will clears his throat and carefully says, “It’s… huh, it’s more controversial.”

“How controversial?” He insists.

“Well…”

“It’s considered a crime.” Santana’s voice rings loud after Will’s hesitance. Her tone his hard and cold. “It didn’t use to be like that, I mean, people weren’t exactly crazy about it, but they at least pretended not to notice it or anything. But the regime forbade it. So outside of this house, I would advise you to keep that information to yourself.”

“Not that you should leave the house, anyway.” Will adds hastily, “You shouldn’t be seen by anyone. If they know you’re here they could start a manhunt, and… the results could be catastrophic. War could break out.”

“We _are_ at war. Even if it’s silent.” Santana frowns, “And the people could use something to believe in.”

“Not like this.” Will counters calmly, “It’d be chaos.”

Santana’s startles everyone with the loud clack of her fork hitting her late as she drops it in annoyance and anger, “How then? We just wait till there’s literally no fight left in anyone to show up and say, ‘no but look, the bluebird is here!’? By that time no one will believe you, and even if they do, they’ll be too afraid to do anything about it, Will. They need hope. They need something to keep them going. It’s been eighteen years. _Eighteen years_ since Anderson took over, and everyone’s been terrified for eighteen years! That’s a lifetime, right there! It’s an entire generation! Are we waiting until everyone who still remembers what it used to be like has died? They’ve been bent and broken, and we are running out of time until fear takes them over _permanently_ and there’s not even any anger left in there for them to _fight back_.”

“Santana, this is not the time or the place for this discussion.” Will says carefully.

“Then when is it? Are we not all here to fight back?! I don’t-“ Kurt notices the way Blaine’s hand takes hold of hers and squeezes gently, how he leans into her and whispers something in her ear. She stops talking, but her eyes are still alight with contempt.

Blaine sighs and gives her a small smile, not letting go of her hand, before turning to Kurt, “Bottom line, you should know no one will judge you in this house.”

Kurt’s relieved to know that, of course, but at the moment he’s also suddenly very aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach – one that shouldn’t be there anyway, he chastises himself – because he finally understands Santana’s snide comments about him and Blaine. The way he holds her hand through the rest of her meal, and constantly looks to see if she’s still calm and collected, the way he’s the only person to get her to smile for the entire time they’re at the table, the way she rolls her eyes at him before bumping their shoulders.

They’re together.


	6. Grey With a Burst of Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: mentions of minor characters death

Kurt sticks his head inside, looking carefully at the large room. It’s not so much a library as it is a big, well-stacked study. The walls are covered with ceiling high bookcases, half of which are filled with books, thick and thin, and the other half with folders and single pieces of paper sticking out. Artie is sitting in his chair, a handful of papers strewn across the desk and a frown on his face.

“Hey…” Kurt says quietly, stepping inside. “I’m reporting for duty.”

Artie gives him a considering look. “Alright. So, what do you wanna start with?”

Kurt surveys the long shelves lined with books. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never had… such a fresh start. What do you suggest?”

“Right.” Artie nods and shrugs. “Have you already read the History intro?”

“I read the intro to _that_ …”

“How about the rest?”

Kurt looks at him, trying to see if there’s a way to say ‘I would much rather not’ that doesn’t sound like he’s just being completely lazy, “I… yeah… sure. It’s in my bedroom, I’ll go get it.”

Kurt jogs downstairs and grabs the book – goes back on second thought and grabs the whole pile, before returning to the study.

Wordlessly and with a long drawn out breath he makes a show of opening the book and finding the first chapter. Artie doesn’t even bother to look up and appreciate his sacrifice, so Kurt rolls his eyes and figures his pain will just go unnoticed. He’s interrupted five minutes later when Cat hops onto the table and lays down on top of the book.

Kurt snorts and pets her with a smile for a few moments before noticing the raised eyebrow from Artie and clearing his throat.

“Sorry, buddy,” he mutters before picking Cat up and putting her gently on the floor. She meows and as soon as Kurt’s hands let her go, she gracefully hops onto his lap, curling up there. With a smile, Kurt shrugs, “Okay, I guess we can work with that…” he tells her before turning back to the book.

He reads like that for about an hour, trying to keep his eyes open, but failing more than succeeding. As it turns out, reading detailed history studies (as introductory as they claim to be) are not exactly in Kurt’s top10 interests and/or hobbies. He’s more than thankful when a head pops by the door and he feels his own face flush, his heart stammer and his stomach twist once he notices dark curls and gentle smile.

“Oh!” Blaine gasps, “There she is.” He rolls his eyes and mumbles, “Of _course_ she is.” Blaine’s cheeks are slightly pink, and he smiles sheepishly before adding, “What’re you reading?”

Kurt flips the cover over so Blaine can read it. Immediately, a grimace takes over Blaine’s face and then he smiles sympathetically, sliding into a chair opposite Kurt. “Mind if I sit here?” He raises a stack of papers as a way of explanation.

Kurt just nods, because he’s horrified to find the words that most want to come out of his mouth are ‘are you and Santana together?’ or ‘are you sure you can’t be gay?’.

Blaine grins and sits down. From then on, the challenge for Kurt isn’t so much keeping his eyes open as it is keeping his eyes on the book.

In the end, they sort of settle into a routine: for the next couple of weeks, Kurt uses his mornings to learn how to “fight” and his afternoons to study about – well, everything else -, while, most days, Blaine joins him to do whatever work he has to do.

In the morning, it’s not always Mike teaching him, because every few days there’s some re-con mission going on and a lot of the time he’s deployed for those. In fact, there are days when it’s just Kurt, Artie, Mercedes, Joe and Rachel left in the house – and in those days, Rachel proves to be the perfect partner/teacher for him. Thankfully, though, Blaine is one of the least utilized members and he’s not gone very often, and usually only one day at a time, or mere hours, so he also helps a lot with Kurt and Rachel’s training – most of the time he just sits there watching them fight, gives pointers and throws balled up paper at them with a teasing grin whenever they’re sucking particularly bad (there’s this one time, when he walks up behind Kurt and takes his wrists into his hands so he can guide his movements properly and while it completely backfires, because Kurt remembers absolutely nothing of what he was supposedly teaching him, Kurt has a hard time not dubbing that day as the best of his life).

When he finally gives into his curiosity and asks Rachel why Blaine’s almost never gone, she smiles a little knowingly and tells him that it has to do with the fact that he’s the best wizard the Resistance has, so they can’t risk his safety too much. At that, Kurt feels a flurry of something stirring up in his chest – it might be pride on behalf of Blaine, it might be something else entirely; but whatever it is, it shouldn’t be there because 1) Blaine’s not gay; 2) Blaine’s with Santana; and 3) Kurt’s leaving, anyway.

In the library, sometimes someone else joins the two of them (there’s a day when Santana occupies the third chair and Kurt doesn’t like that day all that much: it’s painfully obvious how intimate the two are, and it makes Kurt feel sickeningly stupid for managing to crush on a straight guy with the hottest _girl_ friend possible), but it’s mostly Sam who spends most of his time trying to distract them with jokes and impressions to the point where Blaine tells him he can’t join them anymore. Sam takes it badly and walks away wordlessly while Blaine and Kurt exchange looks.

“Do you think he’s mad?”

Blaine chuckles and shrugs, “He’ll get over it by dinner time.”

Blaine’s words prove to be right as they descend for dinner and Sam turns to them, excitedly explaining how he managed to convince Mercedes into baking his favorite cake for dessert as a celebration of him and Puck returning scot-free from their most recent mission the night before (sugar is scarce and the food is usually somewhat bland and basic, so it’s, apparently, a big deal to have dessert for dinner). Kurt just smiles and then discreetly asks Blaine, “Hasn’t anyone bothered to tell him she’s got just as much of a crush on him as he does on her?”

Blaine’s eyes twinkle with laughter as he leans closer too and mutters, “It’s more fun like this. We spend too much time inside this house, we need all the entertainment we can get. Although, I could do with a new topic for our morning run chat. Sam seems to think I like running to the rhythm of his voice mooning over her.”

Kurt couldn’t look away if he tried and he follows Blaine with his eyes as the boy walks towards his usual seat, Santana already at his side.

With a barely concealed sigh, he takes his own seat and tries to keep his eyes from straying.

Throughout the days, Kurt is surprised at how much he’s actually learning from all the books. He’s learned about History, and, surprisingly, economy, he’s learned what he can only qualify as biology or their equivalent; he’s learned about culture and sociology… He’s learned, for example, that, other than elves, whom he’s read everything they had about, there are other semi-human creatures here.

There are _lutars_ , more commonly referred to as soldiers: a species whose eyes are red and whose biggest aptitude is for battle – raising a sword against one would be pure madness – however, their hot tempers and tendency to fight through their problems had lead them to near extinction.

There are centaurs, which are pretty much what you’re thinking of.

There are merpeople, which are also pretty much what you’re thinking of, except they’re not very pretty and don’t exactly try to wreck ships and drown sailors so much as they do eat a lot of dolphins.

He learns the names and details of the other kingdoms, adding up to ten in total, all less than half in size when compared to Curtill, although, from the illustration, each seems to have its own charm and beauty. From the recent files, and not the books, he learns the names of each crowned king or queen, and checks a brief overview of their history.

He learns about their religion – about the four gods, each guarding one of the four elements, and – much like Jesus Chris, God and the Holy Spirit, which Kurt remembers from Sunday school – together they make up a single Divinity that unifies all elements into a fifth one: Magic.

He thinks with some humor, that maybe wizards and witches are just like mini-gods, or something. (Which would totally explain how perfect Blaine is. – although he absolutely did not just think that. He did _not_.)

But mostly, he now knows everything there is to know about portals. Unfortunately, everything there is to know about portals isn’t nearly enough. There’s yet to be a single mention on portals between worlds or even speculation that it could be possible, and that’s leaving Kurt more and more hopeless that whoever that witch is, she’s just going to tell him she didn’t know she’d sent them to another world, and she couldn’t replicate it if she tried.

Still, the fact that he’s managed to survive this long without going completely insane or losing too much of himself, makes him feel a tad bit better about it. Instead of monopolizing his thoughts every waking moment, he’s able to, little by little, get his head back together. It’s been a little more than a month since he’s arrived and it’s not so scary anymore, so he can stop panicking and regain his footing. Regain himself.

Every day he grows a little more horrified at the clothes he’s been given – they’re too loose and shapeless, and do not flatter him at all –, which tells him he’s definitely getting better, and makes him grimace at how long he was willing to go without appropriate fashion choices. He starts noticing everyone’s clothes, too. Some of the boys definitely dress like the clothes he’s been given – Finn might as well be wearing potato sacks over each limb, it would make no difference. But Mike’s shirts are fitted, and the flow of the fabric provides him with graceful movement instead of taking away his figure, and his pants don’t hang loose or scrunch around his ankles making him look shorter (which, granted, might be a plus for the way Finn wears his). Will always layers his shirt with strangely cut vests, and each day that passes Kurt gets more and more used to it and manages to decide the ones that do look nice, and the ones that don’t. Blaine is, by far, the one that pays the most attention to his clothes, out of the boys: his are always ridiculously well fitted (which, really, does nothing to help with the whole “evolving crush” situation Kurt has going on, and especially when Blaine’s back is turned to him), and even though he seems to enjoy layering vests, or cardigans over his shirts, like Will, his clothes are always much more colorful.

The girl’s fashion is still the one that gets his brain whirling, though. Santana’s wardrobe seems to be made out of form fitting leather, always held together with too much buckles – which, granted, seems to be a reappearing theme even in the other girls’ clothes (though not with this level of abuse). Quinn, even now in the growing winter, never strays too far from light, flowing dresses with fabrics Kurt can’t quite recognize, and cuts that are familiar in ways Kurt can’t quite identify or replicate in his mind. Rachel seems too fond of short skirts and garishly colored woolen sweaters that make him think of five-year-old schoolgirls and not in a good way (is there ever a good way for that, though?). Tina’s clothes are almost like a much darker version of Quinn’s with a touch of Santana and Kurt finds himself strangely in love with it – it feels like a natural and much classier version of the Goth look he’d find back home. Mercedes, unlike Rachel, is a wonderful and tasteful blast of color, and the grace she seems to exude with her dresses does nothing to take away from how fun they look.

Suffice to say, Kurt’s mind is swirling from possible design ideas and he thinks if (when, _when_ , **_when_** ) he does get to go back home, he’ll have even more to work with, between his own creativity and this newfound source of inspiration. It’s not long before he begs for a sewing kit of his own and starts blissfully adjusting his clothes into something he could wear and feel completely himself in.

Before he knows it, it’s been way more than a month and he only ever cries sometimes. He’s so busy with everything that he doesn’t have time to wallow in the fear of never going back, or even missing his dad, only stopping for both alone in his bedroom, late at night. Instead, he’s finally emotionally available to start noticing people, and relate to them.

He gets along better with Mercedes, Rachel and Tina, but Quinn can be nice sometimes, too, if you don’t annoy her. Rachel, he thinks, is probably the most infuriatingly intense person Kurt has ever met, but it doesn’t take more than a week before he’s admiring her strength, determination and ambition – for as much as she claims not to have ever had a chance at dreaming, she still manages to be the heart of the house, ensuring anyone in doubt that everything will be just fine. Mercedes is scary with how angry she gets at anyone that upsets her kitchen (and the few times Kurt has gotten to witness her practicing some sort of combat technique are very, very intimidating), but her hugs are amazing, and her support is unwavering. Tina is a gentle soul, and sometimes Kurt catches her looking longingly at Cat or Will’s dog (which is a large golden retriever and is usually either outside chasing squirrels and other things, or in Will’s office, slumped over the small couch), but then she shakes herself out of it and gets to work. Santana fluctuates between being nice to him and acting like an insufferable bitch (which, granted, is also how she seems to behave to everyone else, except maybe Blaine).

Sam and Mike are, by far, the nicest of the boys. Sam doesn’t miss a chance for an impression or a joke that Kurt rarely ever gets (though he appreciates the effort), and he never fails to invite Kurt to join him and Blaine on their morning run (he always refuses with a strong conviction that he would die or pass out embarrassingly soon). Similarly, Mike seems to be ready with an encouraging smile at all times, even if he’s not the most talkative person in the house. Puck, for as intimidating as he is (and according to him, part _soldier_ ), looses all his impact on Kurt when he walks in on him holding a baby diaper and wiping tears off his eyes – Puck just puts down the diaper and doesn’t even try to hide his tears as he walks out. Finn is nice enough, and when allied to Rachel they become this super couple that’s got leadership all over them, and an innate ability to inspire – but he’s also so incredibly naïve that sometimes Kurt just wants to pull him aside and patiently teach him the ways of the world. Artie is much nicer than that first afternoon with him led Kurt to believe – sometimes he’ll join in for a long conversation, and he is always ready to supply Kurt with answers to his questions. Joe is… odd, to say the least, always doing the craziest dances while he cleans the house, as if nobody could see him – but Kurt can definitely appreciate how he is unapologetically himself. Will is usually cooped up in his office, and only Emma, the most nervous and skittish woman Kurt has ever met, can convince him to come out, so Kurt doesn’t know him all that well.

And then… then there’s Blaine. He gets his own paragraph, yes. Blaine has quickly and without much effort become his best friend. Besides spending their afternoons together in the library, Blaine usually joins Kurt in his bedroom after dinner and lets him reminisce all about home, listening attentively while helping Kurt with his sewing and crafting. Sometimes Kurt will tell him he doesn’t want to talk about it, because it hurts too much that day, so Blaine just nods and smiles and entertains Kurt with magic, conjuring up all kinds of flowers when Kurt tells him the thing he hates the most about winter is the lack of colors, making the whole room turn blue when Kurt whines about how he could do without ever reading the word blue or anything to do with it again, getting a rainbow to shine around Kurt’s bed when he tells Blaine about the LGBTAQ+ community back home, making it rain inside the room when Kurt’s being particularly impossible and teasing Blaine endlessly about his height, telling him about Frodo and the hobbits.

(Two paragraphs, actually.) Blaine has become something like Kurt’s safety blanket – like the one he used to have as a kid, and took everywhere, lest he be scared or sad, because it always made him feel better. Whenever Kurt talks about going back home, Blaine always corrects him to say ‘when’ instead of ‘if’ – and when Kurt tells him he’s insane because there’s no way he can be sure it’s even possible he just shrugs, lays a hand on Kurt’s knee and says “We thought you coming back from a different world was impossible. Nothing is impossible. We’ll find a way. I promise.”

Blaine’s got an uncanny ability to make him laugh, or at the very least smile – and when that’s not enough, at least he finally feels understood and less lonely. Something that not even going back home will fix. So of course Kurt can feel himself falling for Blaine. It’s inevitable. But there’s also the fact that Blaine has Santana and that Kurt needs to go back home and leave all of this behind, including Blaine. So, best friends… best friends is something he can deal with. Something that, when it eventually ends, leaves him with a smile of nostalgia, and not a heart broken into a million little pieces.

-x-

It’s almost dinnertime when Kurt stops reading abruptly, an idea striking suddenly. Blaine looks up, startled.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“I want to go to the nearest village,” he says, “The other queen, when she needed to convince the girl… she took her to the nearest village. I want that.” Kurt explains, “I want to… I need this to be real. And sometimes it still feels like a farfetched story, or… I don’t know. I just… I need to see something other than this house, and these…”

“People?” Blaine guesses with a small smile, “I suppose.”

“And I mean, it’s actually a miracle that I haven’t gone crazy, being stuck in the same house for almost two months!”

“I think it’s the amount of work,” Blaine offers, gesturing to his own pile of paperwork, “It makes it easier to pretend this doesn’t feel like a prison.”

“What _are_ you doing?” Kurt frowns. Blaine always has a big stack of papers to peruse.

“We steal these from the camps we raid. It’s their records. This one is a prisoner’s list, and it says who was there, and who died there, too.” He says, “We like to keep track of things, and have a way of giving people answers when or if this nightmare ever ends. And besides, there are a lot of important people who are unaccounted for, and these lists are just one more place where they could be.”

“Oh…”

“But anyway, I think that’s an idea worth considering. It’s dangerous, and we would have to make sure no one recognized you. But I’ll talk to Will about it, if you really want to.”

“I do.” Kurt nods. “Thank you.”

Blaine just smiles and goes back to his list. Kurt notices now how he reads each name carefully, and how many of them have a “terminated” in front of them, or a “deceased”, and he doesn’t even want to think about what makes the difference. He notices how Blaine will, every once in a while, grab another stack of papers and look for a name, only to scribble a d in front of it.

The whole thing takes him back to that first day, and the completely overwhelming amount of bodies strewn everywhere.

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“Do you ever find…”

“People I know?” He nods. “All the time.” He goes back two pages and shows Kurt the name _Joshua Prett, terminated._ “Distant cousin.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Blaine nods, offers him a sad smile and goes back to work. They stay silent for a long time, a certain sadness and heaviness settling over both of them, and Kurt almost wishes someone would call them down for dinner just so he could stop the feeling of wanting to reach out and grab Blaine’s hand or even hug him. But suddenly Blaine gasps and turns pale.

“Oh… no…”

Kurt eyes him worriedly as he pushes the list away from him and buries his face in his hands. For a moment Kurt thinks he might be crying, but then he emerges, looking only thoroughly exhausted, he says, “Could you… could you go get Rachel for me?”

The earth seems to fall from beneath Kurt’s feet, and his stomach drops too, and his heart stops, “Did you… did you find…?”

Blaine nods and points at two names, both male, both _terminated_. The surprise over the fact that Rachel had two dads barely even registers. He tries not to look too shaken as he rises out of his chair and goes to find her. She’s in the living room, sitting on Finn’s lap – like it always is at a situation like this, she looks utterly happy and carefree. “Rachel, could you come with me…?”

She looks at him and takes in his somber face. Her smile fades and she nods, “S-sure.” She gets to her feet, but her hand doesn’t leave Finn’s and he follows them back upstairs, where Blaine is already on his feet, piece of paper in his hand.

“Rachel…” he says, with a small voice and wet eyes, “I’m so sorry, Rach.”

She takes the paper, looking scared, looking like she already knows what it is. “No… please, no…!” she gasps, but Blaine just looks back, his chin trembling ever so slightly and he shakes his head, “I’m so sorry.”

She looks at the list and Kurt knows the exact moment she finds those names, because she lets out a loud sob, and immediately pushes the paper away from her, shaking her head.

He remembers sitting with her on a porch, he remembers her telling him about her parents, about assuming they were dead. He realizes now, the difference between assuming and knowing. The difference between a flicker of hope and pure resignation.

He tries to disappear into the wall, feeling like he’s completely intruding on something very, incredibly private. Finn has wrapped his strong arms around her and for once, he doesn’t look boyish or naïve, he looks strong like a safe harbor and Kurt feels foolish for thinking there was ever something he could have taught this man about life. Blaine walks close and gently pushes a bit of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and bends a little, pressing his lips to her temple, before taking his things and leaving the room.

Kurt takes this as his own cue to leave and follows Blaine out of the library. He arrives to the living room just in time to catch Blaine’s somber explanation. “I just found Rachel’s dads on a list, they’re both gone. Executed.”

There are soft gasps and looks of sadness, but Blaine doesn’t linger and Kurt can only watch him as he disappears towards his bedroom.

Dinner is terrible that night. Rachel and Finn don’t join them and Blaine barely does. Kurt watches as Santana tries to get him to talk to her, but he just shakes his head and leaves with most of his food still on his plate. Afterwards, everything feels wrong, because he’s all too used to having Blaine to goof off a little bit before going to sleep. Tonight, he tries to manage it alone, but he’s just kept awake by his own mind and racing thoughts.

Finally, as Cat squeezes through his ajar door and jumps on his bed, looking just as miserable as everybody else, and purring as she curls up right next to Kurt, he resigns himself to his selfishness. He picks Cat up, holding her close to his chest, and leaves, walking as silently as he can and then knocking gently on Blaine’s door. He opens it carefully and finds Blaine sitting by the window, looking out to almost complete blackness.

“Hey…?”

Blaine looks over to Kurt and gives him a soft smile, “Hi.”

“I’m sorry to, huh,… if you want to be alone I’ll go away… but I just… I couldn’t sleep and…”

“It’s okay…” Blaine says, and watches calmly as Kurt steps inside, closing the door with a soft click and going to sit on the edge of the bed. After another moment of silence, Blaine goes back to staring out the window.

“Did you know them?” Kurt asks softly after a while.

“Who?”

“Rachel’s parents.”

“No.” Blaine shakes his head.

Another stretch of silence, and then Blaine rises out of the window and comes to sit next to Kurt on the bed.

“I was wondering…” he asks, “If it feels real to you now?”

“What?”

“You said… you said you wanted to go to the village because it needed to be real, and it didn’t feel real… Does it feel real now? Because… listen, I’ll take you to the village, and I’ll let you see how grey everything’s become, how soulless everyone looks, how every little burst of color looks thirty times bigger than it actually is because it’s just so out of place. I’ll take you there. Even if Will doesn’t want to… You’re right, you need it to be real. But Kurt, it doesn’t get any more real than this. This is it… A girl, a seventeen-year-old girl finally knowing that both her parents have been murdered after five years of wondering… this is _it_.”

“Blaine…”

“I mean… There’s no… There’s no poetic beauty to it. There’s no magic to salvage the situation… there’s… the only thing there is… is horror. And grief. So much of it.” He gasps as if the words were piercing him even as he says them.

And Blaine is absolutely right. Rachel crumbling between Finn’s arms, burying her face in his chest and clutching to him for dear life... There will never be anything more real than the pain of a child becoming an orphan. Kurt would know.

There’s a long stretch of uncomfortable, heavy silence.

“I still want to see the village,” he mutters, “Not… not because it’s not real, yet. Just… I need to… I need…”

“You need a world.” Blaine nods and looks absolutely defeated, “I get it. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to… imply anything. I was rude and out of line. You’re doing the best you can, and we can’t ask anything else…”

“Blaine,” Kurt interrupts and he gives in to the urge to place a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, “So are you.”

Blaine’s face hardens for a second and he shakes his head.

“Trust me, you’re doing the best you can.”

Blaine gives him an eye roll, his eyes too bright. “How would you know?”

“Tonight, I couldn’t sleep without coming here and talking to you, Blaine. You’re single handedly keeping me sane. I’m about ready to declare you my own personal superhero.” Kurt smiles and Blaine barely returns it, “I see the way you are with everyone, and me… If that’s not you doing your best, then we should all just throw the towel and give up, because, honey, you’re Jesus Christ.”

Blaine chuckles and it’s a little choked up, “I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

“It means you’re better than all of us.”

Blaine shakes his head, “I’m really not, Kurt.”

“You saved my life. You almost died saving my life,” Kurt says, “I’ll never forget that.”

“I didn’t save _theirs_ … I didn’t save… I didn’t stop… shit.” He chokes on himself as he suddenly starts crying, burying his face in his hands, “We should’ve gotten there sooner.” His voice sounds broken and muffled, and Kurt doesn’t think twice before he pulls him into his arms, letting him sob into his shoulder, wrecking his brain for something that would make any of this okay, “I should’ve stopped all of this sooner.”

Kurt doesn’t bother asking him what that’s supposed to mean, or how he even thinks he could’ve done that. Grief has a way of making people irrational, and piling on guilt after guilt, where there’s really none to be had. Kurt knows that, so instead he holds Blaine tight, and whispers, “If you’d have gotten there sooner you wouldn’t have found me,” Blaine pulls back to give him a watery smile.

“Nice try…” he breathes with a sort of fond expression, even despite the wrecked state of his face.

“You’re seriously telling me you could’ve lived with yourself if you’d passed up the chance of meeting the amazing and extraordinary Kurt Hummel?” he asks, his attempt at humor feeling entirely too feeble.

Blaine laughs nonetheless and shakes his head, bringing a hand up to brush the tears away, “Of course not.” He rolls his eyes with flare, clearly trying to brush off his pain, and get back on track with their nights of easy humor. It’s a little heartbreaking how little it works.

“Well, then, there you go.”

It must be the way that Kurt himself can’t make his own smile stick. When Blaine speaks again, his voice is tired and his shoulders sag. “Still… hundreds of lives are quite the price to pay for it…”

“You can’t honestly blame yourself for that!” Kurt breathes.

Blaine holds his eyes for a second, it almost looks like he’s going to nod and say _Yes, you’re right, I’m being silly, ignore me._ but just as soon his face all but crumbles again and Kurt hurries to gather him up in his arms like before, shushing and running a gentle hand through the back of his neck. “None of it is your fault. None of it,” he mumbles, “You couldn’t have gotten there earlier, you couldn’t have stopped it, and that’s not your fault. You’re not god, Blaine, you’re just a boy.”

Now, Kurt definitely can’t help wondering what the hell happened to Blaine to make him feel like he’s in any way responsible for hundreds of deaths, but for now all he can do is hold him and make feeble promises that everything will be alright.

As he does, he pushes away the increasingly likely, though dangerous idea of falling in _love_ with this desperately broken boy in his arms. A boy so capable of showing him support, wisdom and faith without ever faltering. A boy so strong that until now, the first time he’s let himself lose control in front of Kurt, Kurt had no idea what was going on inside that steady, breathing chest of his. Kurt holds him almost in shock because he truly never knew Blaine could be this broken. How stupid of him to think that the boy who told him to keep running alone, when he himself was dying, was anywhere near okay. It’s almost like the dam has broken irreparably and the outpouring of emotion is so unbelievably great that Kurt’s just reeling and wondering how he ever missed that Blaine was playing an act. It hurts Kurt just to think of how much he’d been missing about him. How blind he’d been, to accept Blaine’s help and never look twice to see if he needed it in return.

And now that he’s been forced to look, he can’t look away, and it feels like someone’s ripping his heart wide open all over again. He just wants to make all of it go away, and he hasn’t got the faintest clue how.

But he knows it probably won’t be by falling in love with him.

There’s already so much happening that falling for a straight boy, who he must leave behind at some point, would be a mistake of such epic proportions that Kurt really needs not to notice how well Blaine fits into his embrace, or how pure his heart feels as he pours out emotions too great to belong to such a small, fragile body.

He waits until Blaine is fast asleep before he slips away to his own bedroom, ignoring the urge to stay there and fall asleep with the comfortable weight of Blaine’s head on his chest.

-x-

It’s three days after that that Kurt finally finds himself dressed in Mike’s clothes, with a hood covering half his face under the pretense of a cold winter’s day, and ready to leave towards the village.

Blaine, Santana and Sam have volunteered to accompany him and Kurt doesn’t miss the guns strapped to their waists hidden beneath thick winter coats. They leave the house right after lunch, as, apparently, it’s an hour’s walk up the hill.

As they finally reach the top and Kurt can see, far below, the large expanse of houses. Blaine’s words come back to him, and while he’s not quite sure what he was expecting, it really wasn’t this much grey. It feels like the whole place is in mourning. When they finally reach the slope of the hill and buildings start surrounding them, the out-skirting houses look abandoned and boarded up, there are stray cats everywhere, looking thin and skittish. Kurt takes so many deep breaths that Blaine takes his hand for a moment and squeezes. It feels like he’s visiting a phantom village.

“This used to be the theater house,” Blaine points to a large building with broken windows and blackened walls. It was probably beautiful once. It looks absolutely disgraced. “There’s a smaller, street stage set up in the main square now, for government approved plays.”

“Why couldn’t they have those plays here, though?” Kurt asks.

“That place was owned by people who didn’t like the regime very much. It lasted maybe four months before it was shut down and made an example of,” Santana says, “If you talk to the older people they’ll be able to tell you about the public hangings part.”

“Oh my god.” Kurt covers his mouth with his hand and swallows thickly. And then he does it again, and again, and again as they walk by more and more abandoned places – a school, a hospital, bookshops,…

The deeper they go, the more people start to cross their path. He can’t keep himself from noticing how dull they all look. They pass a group of kids playing on the sidewalk and the comparison is so stark that Kurt feels a sudden need to stop and play with them too, just so he can try to forget about the grim look in everyone’s face.

The dense mood isn’t as heavy-handed in the center – there are a lot less abandoned buildings, and some parts of it look well-kept and alive – but as the subtle, small things add up they create something even starker and colder. Adults pass each other on the street and smile and say “Good morning, how’ve you been?” or “I saw Georgie yesterday when I went to pick Paul up, and by the gods, he is so big! I guess he really got over that hiccup, didn’t he? He’s an absolute darling!”, but there’s an underlining of sadness to their eyes. Fathers walk hand in hand with small girls, smiling as they listen to their fresh voices, but their eyes shift from side to side too many times, tracking the guards patrolling the streets, and their holds on the small hands tighten, like it’s not a far-fetched thought that their children should be stolen away without prompting or warning. There are no beggars on the streets, but it’s with a dull blow to his stomach that Kurt realizes it has little to do with a lack of poverty and more to do with concentration camps.

As they walk through the streets, a chill that has nothing to do with winter and harsh wind settles over Kurt. He is reminded of walking home alone, after sundown, in Lima, Ohio. He’s reminded of looking over his shoulder with every sound of a breaking twig or far-off laughter. He’s reminded of wondering when (and not if) the boys in letterman jackets would finally grab him by the shoulders and kick the crap out of him. He’s reminded of coming home after a late meeting at the funeral home, of trying to make ends meet and figure out how to pay for his dad’s service, and hearing the barks of cruel, cold laughter behind him, hearing the shattering of bottles, and the stenches of drunken teenage boys who could never begin to understand the word ‘empathy’. He remembers running for his life, and only just managing to escape the psychopaths that would never consider him human even after he’d lost his dad.

He had never thought it would be possible for a whole village to feel like that, instead of it being a single solitary journey within its streets and alleys. But as he walks across the streets, he thinks he recognizes the pure fear in everyone’s eyes. It’s like the city itself has adopted the personality of a depressed kid, pulling its grey, fraying sleeves down to cover its shaking hands, letting the hood of its coat cover its miserable eyes, and dragging its feet without the energy to keep itself from tripping over the smallest crack on the sidewalk.

The shops have no real colors, the clothes on display look utilitarian to say the least, and most of the walls are lined with Wanted posters, and he wonders if any of them have been captured yet? If any of them had been lying dead on the muddy ground of the camp he’d seen?

They’ve decided they’re pretending to go shopping at the market, so they don’t linger anywhere, Kurt having to reign in his curiosity and his horror each time they pass by something particularly striking. As they walk through the main square he tries not to gasp as he notices honest-to-god gallows – ropes hanging, waiting for their victims.

“There hasn’t been a public hanging in years,” Blaine whispers, possibly hoping to appease him, “They just keep it there as a reminder.”

Then he notices the Town Hall, a larger-than-life flag whooshing against the wind – a black cross on dark, olive green and a strange family crest in the middle, he can’t quite make out what it is.

“It’s a bear,” Blaine says, whispering like before, “a symbol for pure strength and sovereignty. That’s the Anderson family crest.”

“What’s written beneath it?”

“Power is in mankind _,_ ” Blaine says in a clipped voice and Kurt turns to frown at him, at how obvious and crass it sounds, and finds Blaine looking alight with contempt as he stares harshly at the huge, beautiful doors to the building. They’re open and a group of men are standing right by it, talking animatedly. They’re wearing well-fitting clothes that Kurt can’t quite place because he’s not entirely sure he’s ever seen something like that, but even still they look filthy rich, an olive and golden sash crossing their bodies and looking all too official.

“Come on, we shouldn’t linger,” Santana says, and grabs Blaine’s elbow to force him to walk, his eyes only leaving the men when they turn the corner.

Kurt is still trying to process the fierce emotion in Blaine’s eyes when he finds himself facing a town’s square, filled with stands more colorful than any other part of the village he’s seen. It’s like after all the darkness he’s witnessed his eyes had forgotten what it was like to see orange, and red, and light pink, and green, - to see so many fruits, meat and fish, so many other things on the stands. It’s almost enough of a relief.

Santana pulls a list out of her pocket and announces they need to find strawberries, taking off at once. Blaine and Sam exchange an amused look and chuckle while they watch her practically jog over to a stand in the middle, the most colorful one, with the kinds of fruit no one has or even should have this long into Fall, maybe even Winter.

When they get there, they find her engrossed in conversation with a girl with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. “Do you want to try one?” the girl is asking, smiling happily as she offers a strawberry towards Santana, who grins and nods and then lets the girl place it directly between her lips.

“Santana…!” Blaine hisses out of the corner of his mouth and Kurt has to wonder what the hell Santana is thinking flirting with someone right in front of her boyfriend.

“Sorry, B.” She flashes him an apologetically smile, even if she seems anything but sorry and goes back to the girl and tells her in a sickly sweet voice, “So, we’ll be needing an entire crate of those.” Kurt decides he doesn’t like Santana. Not because she’s with Blaine, but because she just doesn’t seem to appreciate that fact.

The girl beams back at Santana and goes to pick it up but Sam sighs, “We actually don’t need an entire crate, Britt. I think Santana’s been misinformed. But a small bag would be nice.”

Santana shoots him a dirty look, to which he bites back “That’s expensive!”, before going back to accepting the strawberries with a grin. “Thanks, Britt,” she says as she hands over the money, her fingers lingering over the other girl’s palm.

“Come on.” Blaine sighs, clearly annoyed as he pointedly refuses to look at Santana, “Mercedes asked us to get fresh fish for dinner.”

Santana lingers at the stand before she jogs to meet up with them.

“You don’t have to be so touchy, little man,” she teases.

Blaine gives her a look and says, “Yes, well, we have a tail.”

Kurt frowns at the words, but as soon as they click and he makes to turn around and look for whoever’s following them, Sam puts a hand on his back and pushes him forward. “Don’t look. We don’t want them to know we know.”

“And that’s my fault?” Santana rolls her eyes, “You don’t think it has anything to do with Spooky over here?”

“Of course it has to do with Kurt, but you flirting with a girl sure doesn’t help,” Blaine bites back and turns to face ahead, jaw clenched.

“I wasn’t flirting…!”

“You were flirting,” Sam tells her with an almost teasing smile, and Kurt balks at how okay Sam is with the idea of his best friend’s girlfriend flirting with someone else.

The rest of the trip to the market, even as they buy the fish is silent. It isn’t until they’re passing the older, more abandoned part of the village that Blaine says, “Wait here.” And goes back, clearly surprising the two men in normal street clothes a few yards away.

“Where’s he going?!” Kurt gasps, really not comfortable with the idea of Blaine walking alone and straight towards two strange, dangerous men.

“Don’t worry, he’s got it,” Santana drawls, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest.

Kurt watches as the men stop in their places and possibly reach for guns. But their movement is halted out of nowhere as Blaine approaches them calmly. Kurt watches in confusion as Blaine moves close and puts a hand to each of their foreheads. They stand there for a full minute and then, out of nowhere, without saying a single word, the men turn on the spot and leave in the opposite direction.

Blaine comes back looking completely unperturbed.

“You should’ve made them crawl back on all fours…” Santana says.

“Yes. I should’ve completely alerted the whole of the local police force that there’s a wizard nearby, bewitching their guards to crawl on all fours back to their stations.”

“Jeez.” She whistles, “Lighten up.”

“This was not a fieldtrip, Santana,” he tells her before starting back again towards the inn.


	7. Reality Check

Later that night Kurt excuses himself from the table after barely touching his food, craving the solitude of his bedroom and a white ceiling to stare at.

He climbs into bed and rolls to his back, clutching his pillow close to his chest as he finally lets the afternoon’s events wash over him.

He realizes that Blaine had been wrong. He realizes that it could, indeed, become even more real than Rachel’s parents’ names on a list coldly branded as terminated. There is a whole village out there living in a state of depression. There are parents living with the very real fear of losing their children over arbitrary decisions and events. There are gallows in public squares, reminding people that a toe out of line is one too many.

The pain that Rachel is going through… it’s quite probably the pain that hundreds of others are going through, and now Kurt has faces to that concept – and not just hers. He has the face of a young boy, almost a man, hugging himself for warmth on a street bench, as his eyes never once leave the two little girls drawing on the sidewalk with tiny pieces of chalk. He has the old woman, all dressed in black looking at the gallows, as if she could see maybe her husband, maybe her children, maybe all of them, hanging there, lifeless. He has the small scribbled ‘I love you’ on one of the Wanted posters for a young woman, raven-haired and freckled-faced, called Avril.

It’s really not that Rachel’s pain isn’t real or big enough. Not at all. It’s the simple fact that there is a whole world of… more. More pain. Just as strong, just as bad as a girl crying into her boyfriend’s arms because her dads had been murdered.

And for the first time since he’s got here he can’t shut out the memories from that first night, in the camp. It doesn’t seem like a strange dream anymore, it doesn’t seem like an episode of a show he might have watched, it doesn’t seem like a one-off bizarre event – it’s not something he can block out of his memory and tell himself he’s better off forgetting about. Now, he can’t help thinking of all the corpses strewn everywhere – prisoners and guards alike; was Avril one of them? Was Avril the woman who told him to run and lost her life the very next second? Rachel’s dads had been in that camp – how long ago had they died? Could they have saved them if they’d gone there sooner? How much sooner?

He closes his eyes and he keeps seeing the earth turned into mud from the bloodbath; the young girl, unconscious and so fragile in Blaine’s arms. He can’t forget the image of a woman getting shot right in front of him.

Was that the only camp? How many more were there? Could they destroy them all?

The worst part is knowing that he only got a glimpse of the real thing.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough information to process, there’s the fact that Kurt’s expected to put an end to it. There’s the fact that, had he let anyone look him in the eye, they would’ve held him and begged him to make it all go away.

Kurt closes his eyes and tries to block the cold wave of guilt settling over him. He tries not to think of all those people, desperate for help, clinging to the smallest chance of hope. He tries not to feel disgusted with himself when he thinks about wanting to go back home and go to NYADA and sing on a stage.

There’s a knock on his door and Blaine’s head peeks in, “Hey,” he says softly, “I’m just… checking if you’re okay.”

“Yeah… I’m fine, I’m just… wrapping my head around things.”

“Do you want me to go away?”

“No,” Kurt says, surprising himself a little, “Please come in.” He closes his eyes again.

The door clicks closed and then Kurt feels the bed dip a little as Blaine sits, next to Kurt’s knees.

“You were wrong.”

“What?”

“It did make it real… more real, I mean,” Kurt explains, keeping his eyes closed fearing that opening them would bring on a migraine. “Now my head keeps swimming with a thousand more Rachels out there…”

“Oh…”

“It’s suffocating,” Kurt breathes, and finally sits up so he can look at Blaine properly, “How do you do it? How don’t you just drown…?”

Blaine gives him a sad smile, and Kurt’s reminded of Blaine in his arms, shuddering with sobs, “I wouldn’t know. I always feel like I’m drowning.” He shrugs like it’s the most natural thing to say, “I just keep swimming anyway…”

“What if I don’t know how…?”

“Kurt.” Blaine cocks his head a little, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“You’re insane. You’ve known me for a couple of months.”

“So? You’ve known me for just as long, and just the other night you were assuring me that I was giving this my all.” Blaine smiles, “If you’re allowed to know things about me, then so am I.” He pauses and lays a gentle hand on Kurt’s shin, “You crossed a portal to a new world, you found out you were a crown prince, that your parents weren’t who you always thought they were, that you’re a prophesied hero, _and_ that you have a whole country looking up to you as the answer to, heck, _all_ of their problems… Kurt, stop for a moment and try to imagine how anybody else would be reacting right now? They’d probably be curled up in a ball rocking back and forth… But you…? You spend your mornings learning how to fight, and your afternoons reading as many books as we can give you! _You_ asked to go to a village and see for yourself!”

Kurt feels his eyes brim with tears as he just shakes his head and buries it in his hands, trying to hold in his sobs and failing spectacularly as the weight of everything comes crashing over him.

It’s like a tsunami is washing over him as he’s tightly tied to the spot. He can’t do anything else but feel the sheer force of the water rushing past and against him, knocking him completely and overwhelmingly breathless. There is no pause. No relief. No relent, as the water keeps rushing and rushing, his lungs filling up with it and wanting to burst out of his chest but never quite getting there.

“I’m… so… selfish!” he manages to sob out.

“What? Kurt! _No_!”

Tonight, the roles are reversed and it’s Blaine who envelops Kurt in his arms, pulling them both to lie down and rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I am though…” Kurt sighs after a long while, once he can finally breathe without sobbing, “People are d-dying, and losing their fam-milies… and… I… just… all I can think about is going back h-home. To be some silly singer.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not silly,” Blaine whispers, wriggling down so that they’re facing each other, “And it’s not selfish. People are allowed to have dreams. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? That people get to live their lives the way they want to?”

“Yes, b-but…”

“No buts.” Blaine pushes some hair off Kurt’s forehead. “You have a right to have that dream, and nobody gets to call you selfish for it. Selfish are the people up there, who rob this whole country of its happiness so that _they_ can have something as mundane and useless as power. Selfish are the people who don’t care enough to remember that others have dreams as well, and that they’re just as important. I could give you a hundred examples of selfish and you wouldn’t be it. Not for that reason, anyway.”

“Blaine…” Kurt sighs, because this is crazy. Because this boy he’s known for such a short time… this boy is someone he never wants to leave, and _that_ is crazy.

“If your dream isn’t to be a king, then what gives us the right of forcing it on you?”

“I just… I don’t want… I don’t want to… do nothing about it. I want to help.” Blaine smiles and it’s so beautiful that Kurt feels like crying all over again, “But I also want to go home…”

“So… let’s do both,” Blaine tells him easily, “We can do both. We’ll figure it out, Kurt. We will. It’s not all on you, I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“I promise you, Kurt, no one will ever blame you for wanting to go back _home_. That’s all we want too, we want to go back to our home, too. This isn’t it anymore, but it will be.”

“I’ll help. I promise I’ll help.”

“We could never ask for anything more,” Blaine tells him softly.

“And I’m sorry I broke down on you.”

Blaine actually laughs at that, “You’re kidding, right?”

Kurt blushes and gives him a coy smile.

Blaine just smiles as he sits up. “Mercedes made chocolate cake because… well, because Sam asked,… You didn’t get to eat it. Would you like to join me for a piece, now?”

“My face probably looks disgusting, all puffed up and red.” Kurt shakes his head, too familiar with how he looks after he’s been crying this severely and already horrified at the thought of Blaine seeing him that way.

Blaine just gives him an amused, but pointed look and rolls his eyes. “I’ll bring it here, then?”

“I…. Yeah, I’d like that.” Kurt shrugs, trying not to blush too much at Blaine’s dismissal of his blotchy face.

“I’ll be right back then, monster-face,” Blaine teases nudging his leg with his knee as he pushes himself off the bed, shaking his head and chuckling.

Kurt smiles to himself as Blaine goes, leaving the door ajar. Moving to sit with his back against the wall and leaving enough space next to him, he tries not to let his thoughts travel back to this afternoon and instead he focuses on waiting for that piece of chocolate cake, his stomach actually grumbling at the thought of food.

He laughs as Blaine reappears with a half eaten cake, instead of just two slices, no plates and two forks, “They won’t even notice it’s missing!” He winks, before he shuts the door with his foot and hurries over to the bed. He places the cake between them and hands Kurt a fork.

“I’m going to ignore how gross eating in bed is.”

“You’re wrong.” Blaine grins, “It’s the best thing in the world.”

“No, the best thing in the world is spending the whole day in my pajamas, watching crappy shows on TV,” Kurt mumbles, unable to keep himself from returning Blaine’s smile.

“We don’t have crappy shows on TV, but I’m sure we could arrange for a whole day in our pajamas, eating in bed,” Blaine offers, beaming as he takes a bite.

Kurt groans around a mouthful, which makes Blaine giggle, “That actually sounds kind of perfect, right now…” he says, keeping himself from blushing beneath Blaine’s amused and attentive eyes.

“Okay, so the plan is, we lock your door and just pretend we’re asleep every time they knock,” Blaine announces, “Although, maybe I should just make the door soundproof, because we don’t really want to be disturbed, do we? And then we just don’t leave this bed, and we eat nothing but cake. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Won’t they be upset?” Kurt giggles.

“I’ll slip a note under the door.” Blaine shrugs, popping a forkful of cake into his mouth, “They’ll understand the need.”

“Won’t Santana be upset?”

“What? Why?” Blaine frowns. “Sure, she loves eating on _my_ bed and leaving a complete mess, but pajamas aren’t really her thing, to tell you the truth, so let’s not invite her,” he says, wrinkling his nose adorably.

“But… you’re sure she won’t mind you spending the night here?” Kurt frowns.

“Why would she? I don’t really think she cares where I sleep…” Blaine cocks his head a little to the side in polite confusion.

Kurt steels himself and sighs, “Blaine, can I be honest?”

“Sure.” Blaine sounds slightly apprehensive, like he really has no idea where this conversation is going.

“I think you deserve better than Santana,” Kurt says, his cheeks burning as he feels awkwardness take over his entire body, but he powers through it. “I don’t… I don’t think she appreciates you, and, while I can certainly see the appeal of being with her, she’s really not… I mean… You’re a terrific guy and she’s just… a bit of a bitch really. And I mean, she was just flirting with someone else right in front of you!”

“What?!” Blaine gasps, “Kurt, what are you talking about?”

“You know, the girl at the market. I know you noticed, you got all bothered, as is understandable. I mean, anyone would be jealous in that situation. But what I mean is, you shouldn’t have to feel like that. You should be with someone who appreciates you, Blaine. Someone who doesn’t flirt with other people and cares where you sleep.”

For a moment there Kurt thinks he might have crossed a line. It almost looks like Blaine is about to yell at him to mind his own business, as he presses his lips into a thin line and closes his eyes. It isn’t until Blaine clears his throat and the tiniest whimper of a giggle comes through that Kurt realizes Blaine’s not mad. Blaine’s laughing.

“Kurt…!” Blaine sighs, his voice faltering as he clearly struggles to control himself, “I’m sure I deserve that too, but I’m not with Santana, nor was I ever.”

“What?!” Kurt gasps, “No! You are! Of course you are! Of course- Aren’t you!?”

“I’m really not.” Blaine shakes his head.

“But you always sit next to her for meals, and you’re always partnered up for tasks, and… you’re… always _together_.”

“We’re best friends.” Blaine smiles.

“And she kept shooting me snide remarks about how much time I spend with you. She’s _jealous_!”

“She does that to everyone, Kurt. It’s just what she does. She likes messing with people. She keeps teasing me about you, too. It’s her thing, just ignore it.”

“But… I- You- She-…!!! I just- it just made so much sense!”

Blaine actually lets out loud, clear laughter, “Kurt, it really doesn’t.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be.” Blaine shakes his head, still chuckling. “It was very nice of you to say that. Even if you were wrong about it, I’m glad you care enough to point it out.”

Kurt’s still balking at the revelation, unable to look Blaine in the eye and just fixing his stare on his hands. “This is so humiliating. I’m never, ever, ever giving unwarranted love advice to anyone in my life _ever_ again.” He groans, letting himself fall over and hiding his face in his pillow.

“No please, do! It was really good advice!” Blaine tries to pull the pillow off, “It was really sweet of you to say that.”

“Don’t even try! You’re laughing at me!” Kurt whines.

“I’m not! I’m really not!” Blaine says even though he’s totally laughing.

“You’re such a liar!”

Blaine laughs louder, but then there are arms wrapped tightly around Kurt’s torso and Blaine is hugging him and Kurt’s heart all but stops. “Okay, I _am_ laughing! But I’m happy!” he says, finally managing to pry the pillow away from Kurt’s face and settling himself so that they’re facing each other, “Honestly, I’m happy to think you’d care enough to say that.”

“Of course I would,” Kurt breathes, affected by the sudden proximity, “We’re friends, right?”

Blaine grins and nods, “So, see? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. If you were dating Santana, I would probably advise you against it, too.”

Kurt eyes him for a moment before he decides it’s safe to smile, and punch him playfully on the chest. Blaine falls dramatically to his back, and clutches the not-at-all-abused area with a fake howl of pain.

Once their laughter as trailed off into silence Blaine shuffles back to lie on his side, facing Kurt once more, and says, “She’s not all that bad, you know? Deep down she’s actually a nice person.”

Kurt would pay attention to the conversation if he wasn’t currently freaking out over the fact that they are both lying on his bed, face to face, stupidly close, with Blaine’s hand resting between them, not even an inch away from Kurt’s. As it is, he can only try to keep up with it.

He swallows the jealousy the thought awakens in him and squints his eyes as playfully as he can, “So you _do_ like her.”

“What! _No_!” Blaine chuckles, pushing lightly at Kurt’s shoulder, “I’m just saying, she’s not that bad. But I don’t like her in that way! Why would you say that?”

“You looked so jealous today, at the market.”

“I wasn’t jealous! I was worried she’d get herself arrested for flirting with another woman, that’s all.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” He nods and then it clicks, “So, she’s…?!”

“Yes. _Exclusively_. And she’s madly in love with Britt.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

“It is…” Blaine sighs with an eye roll. They just look at each other for a moment. Kurt can barely breathe let alone think of something to say and break the silence. After what feels like hours, Blaine smiles and scuttles even closer, practically pressing their foreheads together as he asks in a conspiring tone, “So, do you want to know every gossip in the house?”

Kurt tries not to whimper as he nods, “Yes, please.”

Blaine grins and pulls back a little – thank god. “Okay, so Mercedes and Sam are obviously in love but refuse to step up their game and admit it. Finn and Rachel have been together on and off for the last six months since she’s been here. Before Rachel, Finn used to be with Quinn, but then Quinn cheated on him with Puck and got pregnant, and they had a baby, but they gave her up to a woman they trusted so she wouldn’t be in danger, and have been officially together since then. Oh! Wait! Puck was with Santana, too – he cheated on Santana with Quinn. But that was before Santana came out, which probably explains why she was never that upset when she found out. Artie and Tina used to be together, but they broke up when she lost her powers, and then Mike came to live here and they hit it off right away and it’s ridiculous how married they are. Will and Emma _are_ actually married. And… I don’t think I’m forgetting anything…”

“Jesus…!”

“Oh! And Joe used to have a thing for Quinn, but obviously it didn’t go anywhere, cuz she’s been with Puck since the baby. That’s it.” he finishes with a grin.

“That’s it?” Kurt laughs.

“Yap.”

“So, nowadays the couples are Finn and Rachel, Quinn and Puck, Emma and Will, Tina and Mike and unofficially Sam and Mercedes?”

“Yap.”

“What about you?” Kurt teases.

“What about me?”

“Not even a little crush?”

Blaine smiles and squints his eyes at Kurt, “No...”

“Liar.”

“I swear to _Jesus_ ,” Blaine grins mischievously, “I’ve never had a crush on or dated anyone in this house.”

“I don’t believe in Jesus, and I don’t believe you.”

Blaine just laughs and shrugs. “It’s true,” he says, even though his eyes are alight with mirth, and it couldn’t be more obvious if he spelled out _I’m lying_ on his forehead.

“Tell me!”

Blaine just laughs and suddenly he’s squishing chocolate cake against Kurt’s face, “Don’t be so nosy!”

Kurt moves to get a handful of cake but in a split second it’s gone, and he gasps “Not fair!” while Blaine just cackles like he did that time he made it rain on Kurt for calling him a hobbit. He attacks Blaine with his pillow and then it’s also gone, reappearing at the top of his wardrobe. “Blaine!!!” he whines, as the other boy lounges happily on his bed and Kurt doesn’t think twice before attacking him with his hands, tickling his sides. Blaine is suddenly squirming and struggling to breathe amid laughter. “What’re you going to do now? Huh? Make me disappear?!” Kurt teases as he tickles the boy into exhaustion.

Kurt knows Blaine _could_ probably use magic to make him stop but as he keeps going, there’s no magic stilling his hands or getting him away. Blaine is laughing and moving underneath him, and even as he does manage to squirm his way out of Kurt’s hold and climb top of him, to pin his hands against the mattress with a victorious grin, there’s still no magic involved. It feels important to Kurt that for some reason Blaine would trust him enough to let his guard completely down and forget about it.

“Truce?” Blaine pants out.

Kurt nods, still laughing and Blaine lets his hands go free and collapses next to Kurt, who simply swipes a finger across his nose and sucks the chocolate cake and whipped cream off it.

“This is really good cake.” He concedes.

Blaine turns to look at him and smiles as he does the same, cleaning a large portion of Kurt’s cheek with his thumb, the rest of his hand splaying across the side of Kurt’s neck for just a second. He hesitates for a moment and his hand lingers as his grin dims into something… meaningful. But then he pulls his hand back and rolls onto his back to suck his thumb clean, “I know, right?” His voice is breathy and barely a whisper, his eyes dancing, looking at everything but Kurt.

Kurt’s still panting slightly and they’d been so close again that he’s not quite sure how he managed to _not_ do something very incredibly stupid. They lie side by side for a while, sharing a new strange, intense energy between them in silence. Kurt can practically hear Blaine’s loud thinking – he just wishes he could know what it’s about.

When Kurt can’t take it anymore, he props himself up on his elbow, needing to put some distance between their bodies just as much as he needs to distract himself with a completely different subject of conversation, “Can I ask you something?”

Blaine turns back to him, neither of them smiling anymore.

“Why didn’t you use magic that night? The night in the camp. You could’ve stopped those bullets – I’ve seen you do it when you’re practicing with Quinn. You cans shield yourself.”

“I _was_ using magic, that night, Kurt. I was holding a portal open.” Blaine frowns, sitting up to be able to look properly at Kurt, “The one for the prisoners… the one I told you to take the girl to…? I was keeping that one open, and it led pretty darn far, and the farther the portal goes, the hardest it is to keep it up for long. I needed my powers to focus solely on that, so it wouldn’t falter.”

“Oh…”

“A faltering portal is incredibly dangerous.” Blaine shrugs, “Even when I was slipping in and out of consciousness, every energy I had was spent keeping it up. Will was keeping the one _you_ crossed open…”

“But he wasn’t… he wasn’t fighting, Blaine.” Kurt frowns, sudden irrational anger bursting up inside his chest, “He was _here_. Why would you go into that camp if you couldn’t truly protect yourself? You should’ve stayed with Will!” Kurt shakes his head and stands up, in utter disbelief of Blaine’s reckless behavior, “Blaine, what were you thinking? You almost died, because… what? Because you wanted in on the action? You can’t just-“

“Hey, Kurt! Kurt! Calm down.” Blaine scrambles out of bed and walks over to him, startled by Kurt’s sudden outburst. He puts a steady hand on his shoulder, “I can handle myself just fine without magic, that’s why I decided to go, and would again, and _always_ do, actually.”

“Alw-No! It’s too dangerous like that! You got two bullets in you!”

“But I’m fine.”

“Blaine…” Kurt glares, “you passed out in my arms. Don’t just tell me you’re fine and be done with that.”

“Well, it’s like you said, if I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have found you,” Blaine offers with a smile.

“Don’t.”

Blaine sighs, presses his lips together and pulls them back towards the bed where they sit in silence for a while. Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the opposite wall. Blaine just looks at him for a while before he says, “I can’t promise you’ll ever understand why I need to do what I do. But I don’t go out there for the adrenaline rush, I promise,” he says very carefully, his voice a little tired and maybe even sad. When Kurt doesn’t so much as glance back or breathe out, he sighs again and shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice isn’t so gentle, “Kurt, don’t ever try to ask me to stay put, magic or no magic. And don’t ever guilt me into it, either.”

It startles Kurt and he can’t help turning back to him, frowning and feeling a little attacked, “I just-”

“This is a stupid fight, Kurt,” Blaine rolls his eyes and punctuates it with a stern smile, “You can’t honestly expect me to stay here when Santana, Sam, Puck, Finn, Quinn, Tina, Mike… they all go out there, and none of can do a bit of magic.”

_But I like **you** better._

He doesn’t say it of course, instead he just lets his head hang and sighs deeply, “I know, I just… I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either, I can guarantee you that.” Blaine says gently. There’s a stretch of heavy silence before Blaine reaches out for Kurt’s wrist, soft thumb over sensitive skin, “Maybe you just need to sleep. Today was a long day, Kurt. You must be exhausted.”

Kurt almost says yes to that, but he’s afraid that if he does Blaine will leave and the idea of the sleepover, stupid joke as he knows it was, will be completely out.

“Well… first we have to finish the cake and you need to tell me about this love triangle – or square, or whatever, between Puck, Quinn, and Finn…”

Blaine gives him a soft smile and chuckle before he nods and folds his legs back on the bed, like an adorable pretzel, “Deal.”

-x-

Kurt wakes up with soft morning light and feeling completely enveloped in warmth. For the first time, in maybe all his life, his feet aren’t the least bit cold. And for the first time in almost two months, his chest doesn’t feel heavy in the least. It isn’t until he becomes aware of himself that he notices the weight of his own arm around someone’s waist, and the feel of feet tangled with his. He opens his eyes slowly as last night comes back to him and he startles at the realization of what happened just as he sees the back of Blaine’s head right there, inches from his face. Kurt props himself up on his elbows and observes the room around them, and tries to make sense of the fact he’s just slept with Blaine. Sure, all they did was _sleep_. But still. It makes him smile and blush.

Kurt slips out of bed and collects a set of clean clothes before locking himself up in the bathroom.

He knows his good mood is silly, to say the least. The fact that Blaine isn’t with Santana changes absolutely nothing; the fact that he and Blaine spent a good portion of the night together having fun changes absolutely nothing. The fact that even when they weren’t just having fun and there were tears on Kurt’s eyes or anxious words in his mouth, Blaine still managed to make him feel human again shouldn’t change anything. Except, maybe, make everything even harder.

But still, even as he reminds himself he can’t fall in love with this world, and that includes Blaine – and he tells himself Blaine probably wouldn’t want him like that anyway – he sings for the first time since he got here. He knows it might wake Blaine up, and maybe he should be a little embarrassed to be overheard singing, in the shower of all places, but he simply can’t help it. And if he’s being honest with himself, there’s a part of him that actually wants Blaine to wake up and listen to it. He sings as he washes himself and he sings as he rubs the towel over his skin, and even as he gets dressed.

He fixes his hair carefully, whistling a happy tune before he leaves the bedroom, half expecting to find it empty by now. Instead, Blaine is awake, sitting on his bed with the covers draped over his shoulders and pulled tight around himself. He’s grinning. “Morning!”

Kurt tries not to let his heart beat any faster at the image, “Morning!”

“Not that I didn’t love this new way of waking up you got going on, - cuz, _wow_ , damn, Kurt, that’s, that’s some voice you got. _But_ … I thought we had a deal…?”

“I’m… what?”

“A whole day in pajamas… in bed, eating cake.” Blaine flops back face first into the mattress and rearranges the covers tight around himself so only his head is peaking out. “So… I’m going to keep my end of the deal. If you wanna join me, that’s cool. If you don’t, that’s cool, too. But I’ll never talk to you again.”

Kurt tries not to laugh as he eyes Blaine, in all his smirking, blanket-burrito glory. “You wouldn’t.”

“I so would.”

“No.”

“I would too. I can hold grudges.”

“I doubt it.”

“I can. I can, too. I swear. I so can hold grudges. I’m a great grudge holder.” And then out of nowhere, one of the pillows vanishes from the bed and falls right on top of Kurt’s head. “See?! That was for last night’s tickling!”

“My hair was perfect!” Kurt gasps and hurries back towards the mirror while Blaine laughs.

“It’s still perfect! It’s always perfect! C’mon, Kurt… _please_!”

There’s a stretch of silence, while Kurt redoes his hair and Blaine presumably lies in bed.

“Come on, Blaine,” Kurt says as he re-enters the room, “Your world’s not going to save itself.”

Blaine gives him a look of fake disgust, “Ugh! Don’t be so right, please.” He groans and pushes himself off the bed, “You are a party pooper, that’s what you are.”

“Tell you what, after my morning training you should come back here and help me out with some of the reading material, you can even wear your pajamas.”

Blaine grins and nods enthusiastically before slipping out the door, Kurt watches him leave with his breath held until the very moment the door closes.

Whatever happened to falling in love with Blaine being a bad idea?

-x-

After lunch, probably looking to collect his promise, Blaine finds Kurt in the library sifting through files after files, feeling a little lost and harried. “I can help with that. What do you need?”

“I just… I don’t know.” Kurt scrunches his nose and sighs, “I’m kind of sick of just reading book after book and it all feels a little… old? I don’t now, it’s like being in the middle of the second world war reading about the Napoleon invasions, you know?”

Blaine frowns and clears his throat, “No, not really.”

“I – okay, so the analogy doesn’t work, for obvious reasons. But you do know what I mean. Something huge is happening right now and I’m stuck reading about things hundreds of years ago.”

Blaine nods with an amused smile, “How can I help you, then?”

“I want to know what’s happening now. I want to know exactly how this came to be, and I want to know how it’s evolved since then. Not just the overview. I want the detailed version.”

Blaine eyes him for a moment before nodding, “Come with me.”

Kurt follows him to the conference room and tries not to look too frustrated. “You already gave me this lesson, though.”

Blaine shoots him small glare, “Give me some credit, Kurt. I’m not amnesiac.” He laughs, and instead goes towards a cupboard, which he opens to reveal a stack of boxes, Blaine opens a few of them and shuffles through what sounds like paper, “Your room, right?”

“Oh, huh, yeah, sure.”

Blaine nods and the only hint that he’s even done anything is the way his head tilts a little and half the boxes in there disappear. “Let’s go.”

“You’re such a show-off,” he mumbles, teasing, to which Blaine laughs.

“If you prefer to carry them, it’s fine with me.”

“Huh. No. I don’t mind the show,” Kurt mutters begrudgingly and Blaine chuckles.

In Kurt’s bedroom, seven boxes neatly stacked await them, and Blaine gestures for Kurt to sit with him on the floor, making one of the boxes settle next to himself. He opens the lid and takes out a small folder.

“Okay. How far back do you want to know?”

“As far back as you think I need to,” Kurt answers with a smile and sheepish shrug.

Blaine sighs, and seems to consider it for a minute before he claps his hands and says, “Okay, so. Huh, before anything happened, power was distributed as such: You had the king, or queen, aka the Crown, as the ultimate figure of authority and power, and representative of the state. You had the Royal Guard and the Royal Army, in charge of security and military issues, of course. The Royal Guard tended to public safety, the Royal Army to foreign affairs, natural disasters and major threats. Judiciary power was built alongside these institutions, so we also had the Courts, the Crown, of course, acting as supreme judge. Finally, you have the chamber of representatives and advisors to the Crown, which in actuality consisted of three chambers ~~,~~ – commons, nobility, and elves. The first was the largest, the third the smallest.”

“Did you have a Constitution?” Kurt asks, remembering from his American History classes in High School that it was a big deal when those things were introduced – at least as far Human Rights go.

Blaine frowns, questioningly.

“Like a set of laws that ranks higher above any other. Like the main guide lines.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Of course, the Core. Named so for obvious reasons. Created the same year the chamber was enlarged to more than just the elves. Passed in, huh, four hundred and fifty three, I think…?”

“Oh, huh!” Kurt gasps, “What year is it now?”

Blaine gives him an amused smile, “How hasn’t anybody thought to tell you that? It’s thirteen hundred and eighty nine.”

“When was year zero?”

“The year the land was divided into all the kingdoms,” Blaine says, “Okay, so anyway, the chamber was where laws were brought up for discussion and passed or refuted. If a proposition was brought up more than twice in five years, the king could pass it or veto it without a vote, but to bring forth the proposition for a law you needed at least twenty percent of the chambers already signing off on it. For a law to pass via chambers, it needs sixty percent approval.”

“What’s the percentage between each chambers, though?”

“Commons make up fifty five percent, nobles make twenty percent and elves would be the remaining fifteen.”

“Okay…”

“So, of course, nowadays, nothing even remotely like that is happening. However, how it came to this, is not entirely illegal – or it wasn’t when it started. The Core has a provision for the application of Martial Law, which affords those in charge much more room to wiggle, but those below, much less. At the time, it seemed only natural for Martial Law to be decreed, seen as, on New Year’s Eve, eighteen years ago, the king and the pregnant queen were murdered in their chambers. Of course now we know it was only the king, but at the time they needed to kill off all and any possible source of hope and create mass hysteria, and it helped that there was absolutely no sign of the queen anywhere.”

“So, instead of celebrating the New Year…”

“People got to see the castle up in flames. Literally.” Blaine nods, “And a lot of the noblemen were murdered, too. Some of them survived – conveniently out of town or prepared for an ‘attack’. In the end, the surviving noblemen didn’t really have a hard time convincing the commons’ chamber to sign off on the Martial Law, and public opinion endorsed it. A very short, and very fast investigation pointed towards the chamber of elves, of course, and they were persecuted and mostly exterminated within days, while John Anderson - one of the surviving noblemen, was elected as acting ruler, until the remaining members of the Chamber came up with a more permanent solution.

“All the while he ran a propaganda campaign of terror and hysteria, pointing out enemies in every corner, playing out the conspiracy angle to its last possibility. By the end, once the Chambers decided to have free elections, pretty much everyone was willing to cast their vote for him, and they did. It took him about six months to secure that, but he managed it. After that, he waited a little bit before he started making all the changes. Two years later, he dissolved the Chambers, on the basis that a new conspiracy was unearthed, and built his own committee of advisors – which is just a collection of people who agree with him and do whatever the hell he tells them to,” Blaine opens up a file and starts pulling out photographs, eight men and three women; names and positions under their faces – Kurt vaguely recognizes them from the wall in the conference room. “These are probably our biggest targets, after Anderson himself, but of course security around them is ridiculously tight and until now, we were better off making their jobs harder, rather them killing them off.”

“Until now?”

“Yeah, until… well… huh…”

“Oh.” Kurt frowns, understanding, “Until you had something better to offer the people as replacement for Anderson.”

“Not just something better; something legitimate. After what happened those years ago, people aren’t just gonna go for ‘I’m not an evil bastard.’; they’ll want proof.”

“But… I, Blaine, I-“

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about that right now. We’ll figure something out. We’ll find a way to make people trust us.”

“If they know I’m working with you guys, before I leave, they’ll know you’re the good ones, right?”

“Yeah, maybe, yeah.” Blaine smiles, soothingly. “Anyway, so you have the ministries,” he gestures at the photos before taking out two other folders of a different box, “and then, the military. I think it was a year after his election that he redesigned the whole military structure so that instead of the Royal Guard and the Royal Army, there was only The National Safety Forces. At least, at first. Soon enough, there was also the National Secrete Body, which aimed to find and destroy covert enemies of the state.” He displays the folders for Kurt to see several pictures of uniformed people with hard, challenging faces.

“Okay, huh, what about the… the camps?”

“The concentration camps?” Blaine sighs, and shuffles for another folder, where he finds a map with half a dozen red dots spread throughout it. Blaine picks up a pen and crosses off half of them. “We’ve destroyed these, but they’re building new ones, of course.” He circles three other locations. “They just can’t actually build them as fast as we’re taking them out. Hopefully, in three months, we’ll manage to clean them out for a while. The one you saw was the biggest, and the whole operation was incredibly difficult and we’re lucky it only went wrong in, like, half the ways that it could.”

“How did they start, though?”

“Well, you gotta remember that, at first everybody thought that the elves had done it, and then rumors started to spread that it wasn’t just the elves, that all sorts of magical or semi-magical people – which they stopped qualifying as humans real fast – had been in on it, and that we’d been planning on taking over the kingdom or whatever, and paramilitary organizations started popping up right and left, and they weren’t just hunting elves, they were harassing enchanters and centaurs, and… you name it, they were chasing it. I don’t know if it was actually Anderson’s plan but for a couple of years there it really panned out and the government started funding these organizations helping them out with their activities, distributing pro- _human_ and anti-magical propaganda. You know, the whole shebang.”

“Oh,… So they’re targeting enchanters, too, like, like you…?”

“Yeah. _Especially_ enchanters, actually. We’ve never been… exactly popular among other humans – a lot of them perceive us as a threat, and there’s always some undertones of jealousy, you could say,” he says with a small smile, and Kurt doesn’t miss the way Blaine says _us_ and _we_ , “Anyway, at some point they must’ve realized that controlling paramilitary organization wouldn’t be exactly easy or ideal, so they cleaned them out, and the mission was carried out by the government, which was when the camps started. The general population doesn’t really know what’s happening there – some might suspect, of course. The camps were created so that they could somewhat profit from those they were trying to destroy, mainly enchanters of course. Most of us, when captured, are taken to a camp and forced to work there until we can’t anymore and then they kill us or let us die. They keep both totems and families hostage so that the enchanters don’t try to make a run for it.”

“Oh…”

“Yes, well, anyway, there are also political prisoners there, of course, social deviants… it’s just… yeah. So. Five years into it, it gets out that it was actually Anderson and his men that orchestrated the whole thing, and not the elves, and for a while there we had a civil war going on, but of course, it’s only when that kind of shit hits the fan that people realize exactly how much they gave up for their so-called safety. At least half of the people in the military are blackmailed into working for the government, so that their families aren’t taken to camps.

“After that, it’s been a constant state of depression and fear among the whole country, and people can’t really afford to put a toe out of line. The few rebels who managed to survive the whole thing created brought the movement underground and rebuilt it almost completely. It’s barely been two years since it’s been truly operational, and some cells like this one even less.” Blaine shrugs, his eyes looking a little dull and tired, and turns back into the boxes. “Anyway, these files are pretty detailed. The organization of the government and the military is all here; the big names and the small names. Everything we know is here, so that’s what you need to read if you really want to know all about it.”

Kurt opens a random few, looking inside and clenching his jaw at the sheer amount of folders and papers inside them, “I do…”

“I’m not sure there’s much else for me tell you, right now. I think you should just read those. It’s not like what I just told you, I didn’t read it as well,” he murmurs as he uncrosses his legs and stretches them out, apparently ready to leave Kurt to it.

“Hey, Blaine…” he reaches over to put a gentle hand on Blaine’s already retreating ankle, “I… I think it’s great what you’re doing – all of you. I think it’s great that you’re fighting back when no one else is willing to.”

Blaine gives him a gentle, but sad smile, “It’s not that we’re willing to, it’s that we can.” He shrugs.

“Everybody _can_ , Blaine.”

“Not if you still have something left to lose, Kurt.”


	8. Breathing In

The next morning Kurt is most definitely not ready to go for his usual jog with Rachel (followed by his second session with Puck, having already decided he wasn’t really made for hand to hand combat). He groans and clutches his pillow. After going to bed at two am, his head had continued to swim for hours with names, and places, and dates, and he’d only managed to fall asleep at the very crack of dawn, which also happens to be the time at which Rachel profusely enjoys waking up. As she yanks the covers off him, he can hear Cat screeching in shock, her little body speeding out of the room while the sudden chill enveloping Kurt wakes him up, and he deeply regrets ever having accepted her suggestion of partnering up for their workouts and training sessions.

He frowns after her all the way to the kitchen where a selection of fruits and buttered toast already awaits them. It makes him forgive her a little to know she prepared their breakfast before waking him up, but he’s still not capable of words so he remains silent.

Of course, that’s never stopped Rachel, who’s on a spiel about new exercises and workout routines they could try. He nods sometimes, which seems to be sufficient for her (and also, he has observed, the same technique Finn employs at least twice a day), and lets her go on – he just hopes he’s not nodding his way into one of her suicidal, demented, excruciating ideas. He’s reluctantly brushing the breadcrumbs off his hands when Sam, closely followed by Blaine, makes his presence well advertised with a much too loud voice for this early in the morning. He’s apparently doing one of those impressions that Kurt could never hope to understand, while Blaine’s coaching him through it ( _deeper voice, Sam, come on, you know better than that_ ). Cat’s animatedly playing with a loose cord from Sam’s shorts.

“Ugh…” Kurt groans, shoving his plate aside and resolutely standing up, “Let’s go Rach, I can’t deal with these levels of energy this early in the morning. Insulting.”

He yanks the kitchen backdoor open while Blaine and Sam burst out laughing, and Rachel reluctantly shoves a last piece of apple in her mouth and follows him outside.

It never ceases to amaze Kurt how many things he’s come to miss and then learn to let go of. His iPod was one of the hardest of those, but it’s not like he ever had a choice. In the end, it’s been enough time that’s he’s gotten used to working out without a good beat to set the rhythm. He’s learned to accept the sound of his own breathing, steadier and healthier each day, to get him through the few miles they run every morning. In fact, he’s learned a lot of things – to recognize the pace his legs are ready for (because when he goes too slow, they ache for more, and when he goes too fast, they scream for blood), and how each day that gets a little faster; he’s learned to be proud of the pools of sweat on his clothes afterwards, to own them as proof of his ability to push his body further each day; he’s learned not to settle for the comfort zone, and always reach for more, even if it’s just an inch.

After Puck lets him go that morning, slightly happier than the day before and maybe not as hopeless as he thought, Kurt can’t help standing in front of the mirror, after his shower, and notice just how unrecognizable his body somehow is. Even his face has become stupidly sharper and more defined – he has to admit his jawline is quite impressive. His body is lean and instead of the thin layer of baby fat he used to have, his skin now stretches over muscles he never knew he _could_ have.

“Oh my god…” he gasps, a blush covering his cheeks as he leans over to check if it’s really, really true, “I have abs…”

The door bursts open and Santana struts into his bedroom, “Have you se-Oh, I did not have you pegged as one of those people in love with their own reflection.”

“I’m not.”

“In _fact_ , I always assumed you’d avoid mirrors like the plague, lest you be blinded by the whiteness in your reflection,” she drawls.

“I…” He was going to agree, but fortunately he manages to stop himself in time, and instead adds, “I’m neither. I’m just… surprised… I… I have abs.”

“Most people do.” She shrugs.

“No, no, it’s… you can _see_ them,” he gasps, prodding his hard stomach for illustration, and she looks at him like she can’t decide if he’s sad or adorable, “Anyway, why are you even here, and whatever happened to knocking?” (It’s been considerably easier dealing with Santana after finding out she wasn’t with Blaine, after all.)

“Oh, I like the glimpses of unwilling honesty and vulnerability I get to catch whenever I don’t knock. It makes for good blackmail material a lot of the time,” she informs him smoothly, with a disinterested shrug, “And I was looking for Cat. Blaine’s mildly concerned.”

“I haven’t seen her since morning, before I left for my run. Cat was with Blaine and Sam.”

“So basically you’re useless. Alert the News!” she sighs, before turning to leave.

“Wait! Is it… are there reasons to be concerned?”

Santana pauses to consider, pursing her lips and quirking an eyebrow before swaying her head left and right, “It’s not time to panic, yet. Cat likes to explore a little, sometimes, and she’s probably just out in the trees chasing mice, or whatever. But it’d be better if she stayed out of the village.” And then she adds, with a cringe, “She has this nasty habit of trusting _any_ one.”

“Oh, no…” Kurt gasps.

“Yes, it’s almost as annoying as when _he_ does it.” She rolls her eyes and leaves with no further explanation.

He? “You mean Blaine?” he calls after her.

“No, I mean his dad. Of course I mean Blaine,” she calls back with finality, before the clicking sound of her boots announces her strut down the hallway.

Kurt frowns a little, but as it settles over him, he has to admit it makes sense. Kurt’s blue eyes might have given Blaine a very good reason to trust Kurt, but it’s clear that no one in the house had been as fast accepting of Kurt as Blaine had, (and, yes, even Cat seems unnaturally fond of Kurt for a _cat_ who’s known him for a little over two months – Kurt may be a cat person, but even he knows how long it takes to earn their trust).

With a small smile Kurt realizes, for the first time, that Blaine’s not perfect – he’s too trusting. He clings on to whatever glimmer of hope he sees and refuses to let it go – he clings onto to his belief that Kurt will save them all, even as he has no reason to believe it and Kurt himself tells him he shouldn’t. He dismisses Santana’s mean streak because “it’s just a shell”, when really he should have told her to grow up a long time ago. He bends over backwards for everyone in that house, because the word no doesn’t seem to exist in his vocabulary, and sometimes ends up not managing to do _any_ of those things properly. He behaves like he constantly has something to make up for, and Kurt can see the way it exhausts the people around him when they can’t keep up with his level of commitment.

He finds himself smiling gently at the thought and, dammit, it’s adorable. Even Blaine’s shortcomings are adorable. _Dammit_.

With a defeated sigh he gets dressed and leaves the bedroom to help look for Cat.

Blaine looks reasonably stressed which corroborates Santana’s assessment of the situation and he thanks Kurt as they shrug on heavy winter coats and go outside. Everyone’s a little hungry as Sam finally lets out a shout of triumph, “Got her!”

They emerge from the trees to see the cat looking only slightly harried in Sam’s arms, and Blaine takes her immediately, kissing the top of her head and talking to her in a hushed voice – words that Kurt can’t quite make out, but he can guess. Feeling a lot better, everyone gathers round the lunch table with an hour delay to the usual time. The food’s a little cold, but no one complains.

After lunch, Kurt grabs the few files he didn’t get around to reading the night before and goes to the library, hoping that Blaine will stick with the routine and join him.

It’s been a few hours, and Kurt’s assuming today is one for solitary work, when suddenly he gets a lap full of Cat and he can hear Blaine’s voice down the hall in passing, quick conversation. He grins, all the while knowing he shouldn’t feel this happy about it, before he ducks down to scratch Cat behind the ears and coo, “Hey, girl, you got us a little spooked there, you do that a lot?”

She meows, a little shy, and Kurt chuckles, just as Blaine walks through the door, looking slightly tired. Blaine observes the pair of them for a moment before he blushes lightly and continues toward the shelves.

“Does she do this often?” Kurt asks.

“She used to do it more often when I was younger.” Blaine shakes his head, as he collects a roll of paper, “Thankfully, she’s cooled it… Not that I blame her, though, being stuck in this house everyday kind of gets to you sometimes.”

“Oh, of course it does!” Kurt turns back to Cat with a sweet smile, letting her roll onto her back over his legs and scratches her chest and belly, “You just wanted to go for a walk, right?”

“This time of year is always particularly tricky, I should’ve known to keep a better eye on her.” Blaine shrugs, his eyes glued to the happy, purring little animal on Kurt’s lap, “New Year is always complicated.”

“It’s the New Year already?” Kurt gasps.

“No, it’s in a couple of days,” Blaine says.

“Wait, when do you celebrate the New Year? December thirty first, right?”

Blaine frowns slightly, “Winter solstice.”

“Oh,” Kurt breathes, “But that’s… that’s Christmas. Wait. You don’t have Christmas. Of course you don’t have Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Blaine tilts his head.

“Ohh… I really liked Christmas…” Kurt sighs, sadly, “It’s a religious holiday… it’s the celebration of the birth of Jesus, but-“

“I thought you weren’t religious.”

“I’m not… but it’s… it’s a time for family. You just get to drink eggnog, and snuggle while watching a holiday movie, just enjoy each other’s company.” Kurt says wistfully, before gasping and grabbing a pencil. “Oh! And the Christmas tree! I’ll show you!” he grins as his hand starts flying through the paper, lines of charcoal on white as he draws, “There’s nothing more exciting than decorating it with lights and, oh, my mom used to have the worst collection of ornaments – there were absolutely _none_ that matched! It was terrible – the tree always looked like a Christmas store had barfed on it, but she loved it so much. And I guess… if there’s one day you can forego style, it’s Christmas…” he laughs as he twirls the silly, hurried drawing over to Blaine, “And of course the presents couldn’t hurt. On Christmas morning, people exchanged gifts! I actually enjoyed going around trying to find the perfect thing for each person, you know?”

“I don’t, actually… but that sounds terrific. You must’ve had so much fun!” Blaine says with a chuckle, “Who would you get gifts for? Just the family?”

“Oh, I… yeah, I guess,” Kurt says, smile dimming as his heart suddenly tightens and suffocates him at the thought of explaining it any further, of having to think about his family exchanging gifts at midnight because Kurt could never bring himself to wait for the morning; of explaining how even after his mom died, Kurt’s dad had managed to keep it joyful and worthwhile, filled with celebration instead of nostalgia. He’d had the perfect present for his dad, but it’d been put in a box and donated to charity like most of Burt’s things without him ever getting to even see the wrapping. “But, huh, I guess it’s fine that I’m here for it. It’s not… It’s not like I was gonna have a nice Christmas back home either way.”

“Kurt…”

“I’m sorry…” Kurt mumbles as he hurriedly hands Cat back to Blaine and gathers his stuff. “I shouldn’t have… I’ll just. Excuse me,” he manages to get out before he’s sprinting to his bedroom, tears already gathering.

How is it possible that something as small as talking about Christmas is enough to set him off like this?

It’s been nearly three months since Burt’s death, but right now it feels just like yesterday that he was listening to a disheartened, exhausted surgeon, and it’s a stabbing pain with every beat of his heart. He lets himself curl up on his bed, and the sobs wreck his body. With a trembling hand, he reaches out to the only thing he has left of Burt Hummel and he inhales deeply the scent of the old, worn-out baseball cap.

It’s fading and Kurt can’t help wonder how much time he has left before it’s gone entirely. How much time he has left before the picture of his dad’s smile, of his dad’s eyes disappears for good. Before he can’t remember how it felt when Burt’s hand would lay warm, soothing and ever-present on his shoulder.

His lungs gasp for breath but suffocate with it the moment they get it. Every inch of him shakes with sheer panic. His head is pounding with pain, in time with every frantic beat of his heart.

He’s so spectacularly alone.

-x-

He’s lying on his side, clutching the baseball cap, curling in on himself, trying to become as small as an atom; smaller than an atom. His breathing has evened out, and he can feel the dry salt on his cheeks, where tears are no longer running. He’s staring off at the corner of his desk, paying absolutely no attention to it, when the inevitable knocking comes. He doesn’t say anything, but the door is inched open nonetheless. Small, light footsteps tread carefully towards him until he’s staring at ugly pink wool. With a sigh, Rachel crouches down, replacing the horrid fabric with a grimacing, sympathetic face.

“Hi.” She smiles carefully. He lets his eyes register her presence, but doesn’t say anything else even as she pulls up the chair and sits down, “What’s that?”

“My dad’s baseball cap. He wore it all the time.”

“Oh… That’s nice, that you have something to remember him by.”

“Yeah…”

“I kept one of my dads’ cologne – it was all I could get to before they searched the rest of the house and I had to go away,” she says, “Some nights I have to spray my room a little bit with it and only then can I fall asleep.”

Kurt sighs deeply and rolls to his back, letting one hand rest on his chest, holding the cap, and the other go to pillow the back of his head, “I used to go to my mom’s dresser, open up all the drawers and lay there for hours. A lot of times, my dad would find me sleeping there, and he’d take me back to my bed. But every once in a while he would just lie down and sleep next to me.”

Rachel hums sweetly.

“Do you get scared?”

“Of what?”

“Forgetting them.”

She considers it for just a moment before nodding. “Yes.”

He nods, without needing to go much further into it. Instead, he holds up the cap a little more. “The smell’s fading…”

“Ask Blaine… I’m sure he’ll be able to help. He makes sure my dad’s cologne is always full.”

“Oh.” His heart eases a little and he gives her a small smile, “Thanks.”

“Of course.” She nods.

“Why are you here? Did they send you in to check if I hadn’t run away again?”

She chuckles, but shakes her head. “No. Us orphans have to stick together. I know it feels like you’re completely alone now, but you’re really not. Not in this, you’re not. Most people in this house know exactly how you feel.”

“I…”

“Parents are… everything, and when suddenly they’re not there, it does feel like no one else is. But in time you’ll see that’s not true, Kurt.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, “Some days, I still feel like they were my only home. Like I can’t possibly find anything else that compares to it. But most days I feel… I feel it in my bones that I’m home… And it… it doesn’t compare, because it’s so different. But it still feels like home.”

He looks at her carefully, “You think I’ll be able to feel like that here?”

She smiles softly, “I hope so.”

He returns her smile, but can’t bring himself to say anything else. He just can’t begin to imagine a home so far away from _them_. No matter where his mother had come from, or what he was supposed to be here, his home was still in Burt and Lizzie Hummel’s arms, and not here.

The fact that those arms didn’t exist and couldn’t hold him anymore changed nothing.

“You missed dinner,” Rachel yanks him out of this new dangerous bout of thoughts, “Do you want me to bring you something to eat?”

“Not hungry.” He shakes his head and curls in a little on himself.

“Okay, do you want me to go way?”

He gives her a considering look before, with a small apologetic smile, he nods. She just chuckles and shrugs.

“Ah, well, I’m still going to hug you first, okay?”

He laughs and sits up to accept it. Her slim arms are surprisingly strong and warm around his torso, hands splaying over his back and squeezing heartily before she pulls back. “We’ll be fine,” she says with finality, before she straightens back up and walks out of the room, closing the door.

He stares after her for a long, drawn-out moment until he lets out a deep breath and lays back down. He brings the cap to his nose and breathes in and out steadily for a while, until his eyes are drifting closed and the swirling storm inside of him is finally abating.

His sleep is not deep but it’s still welcomed instead of the anguished race of thoughts.

He wakes up several times. Once because his pants aren’t the most comfortable to sleep in and he’s cold without any covers, so he changes into his pajamas and slips under the covers. Another time, because his stomach is growling slightly – he can’t bring himself to go in search of food, but he does bend over his bathroom sink and takes in grateful gulps of water before going back to sleep. It must be the very dead of night when he wakes up because his feet are ridiculously cold.

With a small smile, he realizes just how used he's gotten to having Cat sleep at the foot of his bed. Knowing he won’t find anyone, he allows himself to slip out of bed and go in search of food and Cat. He knows that socks would probably work just as well, but there’s something comforting about having a small, living and breathing creature with him – trusting him enough to curl up next to him and be at its most vulnerable state.

He hesitates only a moment before he slides the baseball cap onto his own head, and leaves the bedroom. The house is completely dark and empty as he chews on a toast and wanders through the corridors, whispering out for Cat.

With a sigh, he figures she’s probably with Blaine – after the little scare today, Blaine isn’t likely to be willing to let her out of his sight – and he’s about to give up when he hears hushed voices. Unable to control the spike in curiosity, he follows it right to Blaine’s ajar door.

“No, Blaine, it has to have more colors!” It’s Rachel in there with Blaine.

“Really?” Blaine sounds highly skeptical.

“Yes!”

“No offense, Rach, but _your_ use of colors doesn’t inspire much confidence-”

Kurt can’t help laughing at that, and suddenly the other side of the door is completely and entirely _too_ silent. Cringing, Kurt knows he can’t just disappear, but he can’t bring himself to announce his presence and admit to eavesdropping either. Instead he just waits there, even though he knows it’s a matter of moments before one of them comes to check.

He sighs and deflates slightly as Rachel inches the door open and only sticks her head out.

“Hi,” Kurt breathes.

“Hi!” she chirps, smiling a little too happy, “What’s up?”

“I just… I was… I was looking for Cat,” he tells her, attempting at nonchalance. “My feet were cold,” he adds, stupidly. Why would she need to know that?

Neither have much time to ponder over that information as there’s a sudden, loud crashing noise downstairs and they startle, Rachel letting the door go with a yelp, to clutch at her chest. Blaine’s bedroom looks only in slight disarray and mostly perfectly in order, with no major colorful addition whatsoever, but Blaine is standing very, very still in the middle of it, cringing particularly hard.

The response throughout the rest of the house is, of course instantaneous – at once doors are bursting opening.

“It was me!” Blaine calls out, still rooted to the spot, still grimacing, “Sorry Guys! Everything’s fine! I was just me!”

Quinn, next door to Blaine, lowers her gun (and, Jesus, these guys need to react a little less), and leans over Blaine’s doorframe. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing, I, huh, I dropped something, don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

She stares at him a little longer, before she rolls her eyes and goes back to her bedroom, door slamming a bit. Like her, everyone follows and the three of them are left standing there in awkward silence.

Kurt breathes and twists his fingers nervously, “I really was just looking for Cat. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop…”

Rachel just nods enthusiastically, “So, I’m just… gonna go. Sleep.” She gives them a fleeting glance before dashing off.

Somehow, it’s even more awkward now, “I… I just heard voices, I swear I wasn’t-“

“It’s fine,” Blaine interrupts, a little too fast. His cheeks are red, but he still smiles and manages to let out a small breath and shrug. “Really, it is.” ~~~~

“Yeah…”

Blaine swings his arms and claps his hands awkwardly, clearly trying to look for something to do or say, “So…”

“You’re right not to trust Rachel’s judgment on anything color related, by the way.” Kurt offers when it’s clear Blaine had no idea how to continue that measly start of a sentence.

Blaine bites his lip shyly as he smiles and lets his head drop with a huff of laughter.

“Is it even worth asking what it was about?”

Blaine looks at him through his eyelashes, before he shakes his head, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll give you this one secret.”

The other boy grins and laughs weakly before starting to straighten up his bedroom, “How generous of you.”

“Yes, don’t make a habit out of it, Blaine. It’s not proper to hide things from your king.”

Blaine gives him a weird stare before his lips curl into a pleased smirk, “That was a joke.”

“Yes.” Kurt nods, frowning at the surprise, “It’s been known to happen.”

“Not about that, it hasn’t,” Blaine points out, his smile dimming significantly, and Kurt can feel his own stomach tightening.

With a sigh he shrugs, “Might as well, right?”

“I guess,” Blaine says gently, stepping closer and eyes flicking up to the baseball cap on Kurt’s head, “That’s certainly an innovative crown.”

“Oh!” Kurt gasps, having forgotten it was there. He immediately swipes it off with a blush. “I… huh… it’s…”

“Kurt?”

“It was my dad’s,” he shrugs self-consciously, “He used it all the time.” Blaine doesn’t say anything, choosing to keep his eyes on Kurt’s, unwavering and only a little sad. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Blaine sounds a little surprised, or even confused, but he doesn’t press.

“But, huh, Rachel said she, huh, has her dad’s cologne and you always make sure she doesn’t run out of it. I was wondering if it was possible… to keep his scent – it’s fading.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rise and he stutters for a moment before he clears his throat, “I can’t bring anything back, but, huh, I can try to salvage what’s left.” He nods before he goes to his bookcase, finger running through titles until he pulls out a small, burgundy book. He checks the index carefully before flicking through to the right page, reading it over quickly as he walks back to Kurt, holding out his hand. He accepts the cap from Kurt’s hands, handling it with care and reverence, as he inhales deep before going over to his desk and opening a beautiful, wooden ornate box.

Kurt watches with curiosity as Blaine takes out a little velvety beige bag and tips it over the cap, some kind of teal colored dust covering the worn fabric. He puts the bag back in the box before he crouches down until he is eye-level with it. With his eyes closed, he mumbles gentle, indiscernible words and Kurt can’t help edging a little closer as the powder seems to glow prettily. For a moment, Kurt could swear the baseball cap itself looked vibrant and alive with color. Finally, Blaine blows a soft breath over it, the dust whooshing away beautifully.

Standing back up, Blaine takes the cap and holds it out for Kurt. “Let me know if it ever stops working.”

“Thank you.” Kurt brings it up to his nose and inhales deep. Immediately Burt’s scent fills him and he manages to feel even calmer. He beams and ignores the way his eyes burn a little bit – this time it’s relief flooding his body and not overwhelming panic, “You lied…” he teases, and Blaine frowns, “It’s stronger again.”

“Oh… I just… filtered out most of _your_ scent.”

Throat a little tight, Kurt holds his breath and his impulse to wrap his arms around Blaine. Cat makes it all the more easier when she makes her presence known, purring and circling Kurt’s feet. He bends down and scratches behind her ears, “I was looking for you, sweetie, but maybe I should let you stay with Blaine, this one time. He was worried today, he shouldn’t be alone tonight, should he?” Kurt chuckles as he stands back up and starts backwards towards the door.

Smiling, he chances to look at Blaine again, “Thanks again,” he holds the cap a little closer to his chest, lingering by door, “Good night, Blaine.”

“Good night, Kurt.” Blaine has his hands deep in his pockets and doesn’t quite meet Kurt’s eyes, but for a fleeting moment, and Kurt can’t help thinking he did something wrong until Blaine adds, “Sweet dreams” in the same tender voice Kurt’s grown to depend on. Assuming he’s reading too much into it, he finally turns and leaves, closing the door behind himself.

He almost crashes against someone leaning on the wall just outside of Blaine’s room and barely manages not to squeal. He steps back. “Jesus…” he gasps, and tries to force his eyes to adapt to the darkness in the corridor.

“You two are embarrassing to watch,” Santana’s voice drawls, and before he can even make out her silhouette properly she walks around him and goes inside Blaine’s bedroom.

-x-

The next day, without much explanation, the house seems to be immersed in tension. With Finn and Puck’s arrival from their recon mission, it’s the first time since the week Kurt got here that everyone is in the house at the same time, and even though it feels incredibly crowded conversations are sparse and, most of the time, remarkably moody. It’s not that the house is usually empty or submersed in bouts of laughter and cheerful banter, of course, but it’s never felt quite this somber (except maybe for the night Blaine found Rachel’s parents’ names on the list).

Puck seems uncharacteristically focused during their trainingin the morning, dismissing any complaint or sign of fatigue from either Kurt or Rachel and pushing them harder than advisable. Kurt spots Quinn, a little ways away from them, standing in place as she shoots at trees, the sound made smaller but somehow scarier by the wide expanse of nothing around the house – it’s right before lunch when she finally relents. After lunch, Finn and Rachel, disappear off into her bedroom and not in a way that would make Kurt want to barf or roll his eyes. Will is unusually present, most of the day, but only to find himself deep in conversation with Artie, Santana and Blaine in the library, pouring over files and papers that Kurt thinks might be blueprints. Even Sam is reading something and taking notes at the kitchen table, instead of goofing around the house with his impressions, or chasing Mercedes’ skirt.

It’s only around dusk, when Blaine and Will shrug on their coats and disappear into the snow outside, that Kurt can’t take it anymore and he heads over to the closest person, flinching a little when he notices it’s Santana, and asks “What’s up with everybody today?”

Santana quirks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“Why’s everybody acting like they’re going to a funeral or something?”

“Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve…” she sighs, like it’s obvious.

“Yes, I know, Blaine mentioned. So?”

“So?” She frowns with disdain, “Honestly. Did you not memorize the date of your parents’ assassination?”

“What. _Oh!_ Oh my god!”

“It’ll be eighteen years tomorrow at the stroke of midnight. Yay!” She claps sarcastically.

Plopping down on the couch next to her, Quinn sighs, “I’d consider myself lucky to forget, actually. Anderson always makes sure no one does, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do, because we can’t jeopardize going out on a day like that, where the guard is tripled and their orders are to kill anything that moves.”

“Oh…” That would explain pretty much everything from the depressing mood, to the sudden bouts of intensity from everyone.

“Half of this house has a personal connection to this day. It’s the number one day for getting killed or sent to a camp, so…” Mike adds as he walks by with two glasses of water, “It kind of sucks that we have to sit tight and let that happen.”

“And Blaine and Will are going to reinforce the protection around the inn, in case you were wondering,” Santana adds with an expression Kurt can’t quite read.

“I wasn’t,” he mutters, cheeks reddening at once at the obvious, blatant lie.

Santana and Quinn both give him quirked eyebrows, and Mike attempts and fails at hiding his chuckle with a cough. Does everyone know he has a humongous, ill-advised crush on Blaine?

Does _Blaine_ know?

“I wasn’t,” he insists, despite the fact that he’s about as believable as the bowls of kitsch plastic fruit old ladies always keep atop the doilies on their tables. With whatever dignity he has left, he turns on his heels and leaves.

His empty bedroom seems significantly less intimidating than a room full of people with way too much insight into his personal feelings. Yet, it’s still not enough to hide from his own recurrent monologue on the subject of Blaine. It’s true that Kurt doesn’t have the best track record with his crushes, and usually, at some point, he always manages to slap himself out of it – if he just focuses hard enough on the downsides. This time, though, he can’t avoid it. His feelings for Blaine are growing fast and unrestrained and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Blaine’s nothing like the other boys Kurt has crushed on – and maybe that’s the problem. The other boys were somewhat nice, but he can see now, in retrospect, that they were never the kind, gentle souls that he’s found in Blaine. They may not have been as mean as everybody else, but they never stuck around to make sure Kurt was alright, they never talked to him or tried to get to know him, they never let Kurt get to know them, either; they never relied on him, like he was as important in their lives, like he had the ability to make them feel good in return. Some of them never even let him touch them. They weren’t mean to Kurt, but they weren’t kind, either – not without expecting something in return.

And it’s not just that. In being able to be close to Blaine, Kurt’s realized that what he’d liked about all those other boys was the idea of them – of someone nice and kind that wouldn’t hurt him –, and not anything else. With Blaine, every day he gets to know him better, deeper. Every day he gets to see a new nuance to his personality, a new side to his mind, a clearer glimpse into his heart. And every part of that is just so… beautiful.

Kurt likes how Blaine makes him feel, of course; but more than that he likes how _Blaine_ feels. When they’re sitting together – Blaine working and Kurt studying; when they’re goofing off in his bedroom; when they’re vulnerable and somehow so safe in showing each other that vulnerability.

The downside to this crush is so obvious he’s well exhausted of reminding himself of it. And yet, he must.

He must because the next day after dinner, when Kurt’s already in his room trying not to hope that Blaine hasn’t yet gotten tired of their evening routines, there is a knock at his door and Blaine does inch the door open with one of Kurt’s favorite smiles – the nervous, small one, where he bites his lip and his eyes fly from spot to spot. The relief alone that Blaine’s come and that they can resume their usual nights of hanging out (without the glances and smirks of everyone else in the house, and especially Santana) sends the rational part of Kurt into a panic. How can his heart stop and restart back up just at the sight of this boy? And what will happen when that sight is gone forever?

“Hey,” Blaine greets him, still at the door.

Kurt’s mouth is a little dry as he mumbles, “Hi.” He can’t help thinking that Blaine knows all about his crush, he can’t help feeling the butterflies in stomach the moment that Blaine’s eyes meet his, he can’t help any part of this.

“I was wondering if you’d join me in the living room…” Blaine quirks up a smile, stepping only a little closer, “Rachel and I prepared something for you. I, huh, I hope you’ll like it.”

“What?”

Blaine gives him a shy, little grin before extending a blindfold and saying, “Put this on.”

“What? Why? What is it?” Kurt’s out of his chair and trying to walk past Blaine.

“Just put it on and come with me, silly.” Blaine chuckles and grabs him by the elbow, sliding the blindfold with his other hand swiftly, before Kurt can so much as shake his head.

“Blaine!” he whines.

“It’s a surprise! Stop being dumb!” Blaine laughs, putting both hands on Kurt’s shoulders and pushing him carefully, “Come on!”

Kurt relents and lets Blaine guide him towards the living room, where he can hear everyone whispering and he’s not particularly happy feeling like everyone can see him, but he can’t see them. Thankfully it’s not long before Blaine is stopping him, the scent of something strangely familiar invading his lungs, and fingers curl around his blindfold. “Ready?” Blaine’s voice asks, _right_ next to his ear, so hushed and so deep that it sends chills down Kurt’s spine and he curls his toes.

Voice practically gone, Kurt nods. When Blaine pulls the blindfold off, he has to blink his eyes several times, adjusting to the sudden light, before he finds himself staring at the biggest Christmas tree he’s ever seen. For a moment, it feels exactly like he’s back home – it smells like pine tree and homemade cooking, and it’s wonderful. Of course the tree isn’t exactly like it used to be – the ornaments are drawn and painted on paper, and the few that aren’t simple colored circles aren’t even close to being Christmas related, the lights are significantly bigger than they should, and they don’t flicker or change colors and there’s waaay too much of something Kurt thinks might be an attempt at tinsel. But in the way that it looks absolutely wrong, it feels just like their Christmas tree back home used to.

He gasps.

“I… We… we thought you might enjoy getting a little piece of home back,” Blaine says, next to him, his voice is a little nervous and apprehensive, “I know it’s probably all wrong, and we’re not trying to… huh, replace anything, but we didn’t want you to feel like you’ve lost everything.”

“Oh my…” he breathes, “I… Oh my god… How… What?”

“I think you broke him.” Quinn laughs from somewhere behind him, but Kurt couldn’t care less.

He turns to look at Blaine; next to him Rachel is standing there, looking equally nervous and pressing her lips to a thin a line, so obviously holding in her excitement.

“Jesus! Guys…!” He laughs and both Blaine and Rachel seem to breathe out at once, relief pouring over their faces, “Thank you! I love it!”

This time he really can’t help hugging Blaine, but at least he has the good sense of placating himself by hugging both him and Rachel at the same time.

“I knew you’d love it!” Rachel squeals, kissing him soundly on the cheek before she pulls away, “But be honest, it needs more color, doesn’t it?”

Blaine groans, pulling away from the hug and shoving her playfully on the arm, “It does not! And that’s coming from _me_!”

“I asked _him_ , if I wanted your opinion I wouldn’t have asked because I know it already.”

“Guys, it’s fantastic! Really, thank you so much!” he gushes, shaking his head and covering his burning cheeks with both hands, “Oh my gosh!”

It really is so perfect, because of how imperfect it is, and Kurt is hit with the overwhelming realization that it’s not a coincidence how much it feels like it used to when his mother decorated the tree. How she too would deem any decoration tree-worthy eve if it wasn’t remotely related to Christmas. How she once wrapped all her scarves around the tree because they looked pretty and colorful. How she would sometimes buy flowers – no matter how expensive they were at that time of the year, just so she could have a full day of a flower-filled Christmas tree. Their little family of three in Lima, Ohio might have become her home – but it didn’t use to be. And her origins were completely and utterly obvious in this perfectly imperfect tree standing right in front of Kurt.

“Well, everyone could use the distraction, really.” Rachel grinned, snapping him out of his thoughts and taking his hand, pulling him to sit down on the pillows carefully placed around the tree, “You also mentioned you used to exchange gifts,…”

“Now, we’re not exactly in the best position to go around finding the perfect gifts for everyone,” Blaine explains as he sits on the other side of Kurt, a hand at his shoulder bade.

“But,” Santana interrupts, “There’s always something you can give, right?” A deep scarlet envelope is in her outstretched hand, and Kurt frowns, disbelieving the fact that Santana of all people is giving him a Christmas gift. He accepts it warily, and nods his thanks. Before he can even move to open it, she’s pulling out several identical envelopes and distributing them to everyone around her.

In the midst of Kurt’s surprise, Blaine is the first to open his envelope and pull out a card. His bark of laughter is soon followed by all the others who have opened their envelope. Kurt yanks it open and pulls out the card.

_This card buys you one day of your choosing free of insults. Use it wisely._

Like everybody before him, he can’t help laughing at that, and looking for Santana. “Thank you, that’s very generous of you,” he tells her and she nods.

Around him, people are exchanging gifts, hugging and smiling. It’s wonderful. It really does feel like he’s got a piece of home back. His parents might not be here, and he might not get to give them their perfect presents, but he still gets to share this feeling of belonging and companionship with someone else. He leans into Rachel and buries his face in her shoulder, “Thank you so much.”

She gives him a soft, knowing smile, “You’re welcome.” She bends over and kisses his cheek again, happy and peaceful, “And you’re not alone.” She hands him a little package. “Here, your present.”

“But you already gave me Christmas!”

“Open it!” she urges him, chuckling. He opens the wrapping carefully, to reveal a fuzzy heating bag. “It’s for your feet! You said they were cold, when you were looking for Cat the other night. And I noticed she was there the other morning, and I guess maybe she could use the help, keeping you warm and cuddly.”

“Oh,” Kurt gasps, “You remembered that? Okay… Oh, wow, huh, thanks!”

“Wait,” Santana interrupts, “You mean to tell me that Cat usually sleeps with you?”

“Well, yes. Not always, but most nights. Why?” Kurt wrecks his brain trying to think of a reason why the fact that he enjoys Cat’s company while sleeping should be embarrassing, and the way that Santana’s gaping at him, it feels like he should know this. Swallowing around a suddenly dry mouth, he checks to see if anyone else is paying attention to this conversation. Thankfully, most people are still talking amongst themselves, exchanging gifts, and not many are actually paying much attention, but he can still feel Rachel’s gaze on him, and Blaine’s gone entirely silent next to him, stilling in his movement of unwrapping a neat little box from Tina. Trying to keep the confusion to himself he shrugs, “It’s nice, I like it when she sleeps with me. Keeps my feet warm.”

Next to him, Blaine seems to choke on air and Santana’s eyes bulge out of her skull as she leans forward and smirks, “You mean to tell me that Blaine’s totem sleeps with you?”

“Yes. What’s the big deal? It’s just a cat! Magic as it may be! And it’s not every night. I’m sure she still loves Blaine very much.”

Next to him, Blaine has gone back to unwrapping Tina’s present, his cheeks bright red and looking a little too intent on his hands as they move around the package. All the while, Santana’s smirk hasn’t even faltered, as she says, “You know, I can deal with you not wanting to help; I can even accept the whole dancer-singer thing… But I cannot be comfortable with having a brainless moron for a crown prince.”

“What?” Kurt gasps, just as Blaine and Rachel seem to snap out their tactful attempt at ignoring the exchange.

“Santana!”

“Santana, that’s _enough_. You wanna make fun of me, make fun of _me_ , but don’t do this,” Blaine mutters angrily, before he shoves a package at her chest. “Your present.”

Kurt watches in complete, utter confusion as Santana sighs, looking only slightly guilty, and Blaine pushes himself to his feet and goes to find Sam. “Don’t mind her,” Rachel whispers, “she wishes she had someone’s cat in her bed.”

“What are you even talking about?!” Kurt presses his fingers to his temples, massaging them carefully and shaking his head.

Luckily, they’re interrupted as Tina plops herself down on Blaine’s now vacant pillow and hands him his own small package.

“Here you go! Good Christmas.”

“ _Merry_ Christmas,” he corrects her teasingly, “and thank you.”

He receives what Tina promises is a small protective stone; one cookie from Mercedes; strangely enough, a sword from Sam, which Quinn explains, as she hands him a wooden box with a gun inside, is actually a gift from the whole of the Resistance and he tries to avoid touching both of those as much as he can; a journal from Artie (“it helps to keep your thoughts organized”); a bottle of something very alcoholic from Puck, and a bottle of something slightly less alcoholic from Finn; a small but very sharp dagger from Mike (“I found it during my first mission for the Resistance, and it’s been very useful, I hope you’ll find it just as much.”) which, like almost everything about Mike, doesn’t scare him nearly as much as the sword or the gun and instead gives him a small sense of security, and a big deal of affection.

By the end of the night, he can’t quite keep track of all of his gifts. It’s been years since he’s gotten this many presents for Christmas – most of his extended family stopped sending him stuff as he grew up and it just became the one gift from his dad. And yet, as chaotic as everything is, while he sits there buried in the discarded blank paper they used to wrap their presents, Kurt still can’t ignore the one thing that’s been off the whole time – since the stupid scene with Santana, Blaine has not once even looked at him, let alone talked to him. It’s not like Kurt’s expecting something from him –Christmas alone is more than enough, but it still feels strange not having him commenting on the kind of stuff that people got each other, or whispering good-natured jokes, so that Kurt can whisper not-as-good-natured jokes back.

Once most of them have started filtering out towards their bedrooms, Kurt tries to ignore the gnawing sensation in his stomach and starts gathering his stuff so he can also leave and try to sleep instead of overthinking Blaine’s actions tonight.

He’s turning the knob on his door, when a hand lands gently on his shoulder and he looks over to find Blaine there.

“Hey, Kurt, can you come with me for a minute? I need to give you something… My, huh, my gift.”

“Oh… You didn’t – you don’t… have to.”

“I want to. I just didn’t want to do it in front of everybody,” Blaine’s mumbling a little and twisting his fingers nervously.

“I- Yeah, of course. Let me just put these down.” Kurt nods, but the moment he says that the stuff in his arms is gone and Blaine’s giving him a teasing smirk, Kurt rolls his eyes and hides his smile, “Show-off.”

Blaine laughs, still sporting a gentle blush on his cheeks, and shrugs, “You _wish_ that was showing off! Come on.”

Kurt can’t really say anything else as he follows Blaine to his bedroom. Once the door is closed, Blaine’s going over to his desk and picking up a small piece of paper. He’s biting his lip again, as he turns back towards Kurt and holds it out, “I’m not sure how you’re gonna… You might be upset, but I feel like… like you should have this.”

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s nervousness, but he lets his eyes find the offered item. It’s a photograph, and as he takes it from Blaine’s hand and looks closer, his breath leaves him entirely.

Two people are staring back at him, beaming happily, and he could recognize one of them at any given time or day. His mother looks radiant in an intricate golden gown, her blonde hair flows beautifully around her cheerful, flushed face and her hands grab excitedly at her grown belly. She looks exactly as beautiful, if only a little younger, as he remembers, and he could almost hear her laughter, her wonderful voice.

“Mom!” he gasps as he can’t help running a fingertip over her beaming face – what he wouldn’t give to feel her warm, soft skin beneath his palm again.

He knows he’s taking an absurd amount of time to just stand there and stare at the picture, but he can’t make himself look away. From the corner of his eyes he can see Blaine moving to take a seat on his bed. “I’m sorry, I just…” he says, his eyes still on the picture.

“No, that’s fine… take your time,” Blaine says, “I can go away if you want.”

“No, no…” Kurt says, finally managing to glance towards Blaine, “I’m okay… this is just…”

“You had something to remember your dad by… I wondered if maybe you wanted something of your mom’s.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” Kurt breathes, wiping the one tear that had managed to escape, before smiling, “Thank you… you’re… unbelievable, Blaine. You just…” _take my breath away_. “Anyway…” he clears his throat, “Is this my, huh, my biological father?”

He returns his attention to the picture where a tall man stands next to Elizabeth ( _Lizzie_ ). For the second time his breath dies in his throat, as he notices just how much the man looks like him. His skin is just as pale as Kurt’s, and his hair is the exact same shade of chestnut brown, despite the slightly receding hairline. His eyes, of course, are blue and bright, and his nose turns up just like Kurt’s does.

“Oh my god…”

“You look a lot like him,” Blaine offers quietly from where he’s still sitting.

“This is insane…” he gasps as he looks at this man he never knew existed until two months ago.

“For what it’s worth, I hear he was a very good man.”

“I, huh,…” Kurt shakes his head, “I don’t know what to think about it. I… I think. I think I just need time, you know?”

Blaine smiles and stands up, with his hand outstretched. Kurt hands him the picture, and Blaine simply folds it in half, keeping Elizabeth turned up toward Kurt, “In the meantime…”

A weight that Kurt hadn’t even noticed had been put there lifts off his shoulders and he can’t help letting out a deep breath and chuckling, “Yes, I guess so…” He nods as he takes the picture back, still not over getting to see her face again, “Blaine, this is the best gift you could have ever given me. I am… very thankful.”

“I’m glad.” Blaine sighs with relief and grins bashfully, “I was afraid you’d hate it, or…”

“No, no, I love it so much.” Kurt doesn’t even think before he crosses the few feet between them and finally gives into the desperate need to throw his arms around Blaine’s neck, holding him tight against himself. The moment his brain finally catches up to it, Blaine’s suddenly wrapping is own arms around Kurt’s body and squeezing back, so he lets himself completely give into it. His heart falters as Blaine’s head tucks into the crook of his shoulder and he can feel the deep inhale that comes next.

“It’s good that you liked it, because I’m not sure I could’ve gone through with my back-up gift,” Blaine says, pulling a little away, but not entirely.

“You had a back-up gift?”

“Something along those lines… I’m not.. I don’t know if…” Blaine lets one hand trail up Kurt’s chest and shoulder, settling on the side of his neck while a thumb caresses his jaw gently, and the intimacy of it makes every hair on Kurt’s body stand up, “There’s something I’d like to give you, and I… I can’t help hoping you want it, too. Most times I think you do, but sometimes I’m just not sure, and anyway… every time I think I can’t hold it in anymore I just… remember that… you’re going to… and… well, I don’t think I should, I don’t…”

“Blaine?”

“I’m not exactly a masochist, Kurt,” Blaine shrugs with a sad smile and his hand drops as he steps away, wrapping his arms around himself and suddenly looking smaller, “I don’t like the idea of being heartbroken…”

Kurt’s heart is suddenly hammering against his chest, as Kurt’s mind tornadoes around in his head, making every thought an undecipherable jumble, “Blaine?”

“But it’s inevitable either way, isn’t it?” Blaine shrugs, dropping back to sit on his bed and burying his face in his hands.

“What’re yo-” Suddenly the light in the room turns red and starts flickering and Kurt almost trips over himself as he looks around trying to find whatever’s wrong, “Blaine, calm down! What’re you doing?! What’s happening?”

“What?” Blaine lifts his head and as soon as he does his eyes widen and he’s throwing his bedside top drawer open and grabbing the gun inside.

“Blaine?!”

“Stay here!” Blaine says, just as a wailing, ear-piercing noise invades the air, and Blaine yanks his door open. Kurt follows him, but he only manages to see the corridor suddenly flooding with everybody holding guns and pulling on dark hoodies, before Blaine pushes him back inside, “Dammit, Kurt, _stay inside_!”

The door’s slammed in his face and Kurt tries to turn the knob but he can’t and the window’s suddenly replaced with a wall. Outside he can hear thunderous footsteps as everyone’s rushing for _something_ , and the wailing sound doesn’t stop. He throws himself against the door, but the only thing that accomplishes is a severe pain on his shoulder. He attempts to kick it down, but he’s thrown backwards instead.

Lying on the hard floor, gasping for breath and trying not to panic, he knows two things for sure: the house is in danger, and he can’t do anything to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick reminder that I love and adore notthetoothfairy for being the awesomest beta ever!


	9. Things Kept Safe

It feels like it’s been hours since Blaine locked him up in his bedroom and disappeared, along with everyone in the damn house. Hours since he’d been kicking and punching at the door. Trying to knock the knob off its place with any available object. Desperately slamming his fists against the hardwood and begging for someone to just let him know what’s happening! At some point his hands are sore, his shoulder feel like one more collision and it’ll dislocate, his feet are in pain and his throat is sore. He slides down, pressing his back against the door, and waits. Hoping for some sign of life, all he has is Cat frantically running to and fro in the small, confined space of the bedroom, looking just as frustrated with the enclosure as he feels. Sometimes she stops, eerily still, her ears tipping backwards and a low rumbling noise coming from deep within it, but just as suddenly she resumes her sprints, climbing walls on more than one occasion.

In this state, Cat is anything but a soothing factor for Kurt. If Cat can sense the danger and reacts so dramatically to it, Kurt can barely begin to think of what’s happening outside of the door.

Perhaps the thing that stresses him the most, though, is the fact that he can’t hear _anything_. Unlike the camp, where every explosion was loud in his ears even as he stood ways away, this time, the silence is infinitely scarier, and Kurt’s hands shake even as he holds his knees close to his chest and lets his forehead rest against them.

Waiting is agony – he wishes he could just fall asleep and wake up to whatever outcome he might have to face in the end, but instead, his eyes aren’t tired and his brain is wide awake.

At some point in the night, Cat’s movements become soothing to him – memories of the first days of being here come back to him, memories of reading about totems and symbiotic relationships. He breathes and looks up at her. As long as she’s moving, at least Blaine is still alive. It might not be true for the others, and Kurt tries not to think about them – about Rachel, or Mike, or even Santana –while he has no way of knowing if they’re alright. All he knows for now is that Blaine’s still alive and that’ll have to be good enough. Each time that Cat even so much as flinches in her movements, Kurt’s breath catches and panic builds up in his throat.

Horror fills him when Cat finally stops running, her movements slowing down progressively, starting and stopping in stilted, cautious movements, before, finally, she walks over, slow and exhausted, and curls up next to Kurt. “Please, please, please,…” he mutters under his breath. “What? What’s happening?” Kurt gasps and she looks back up to him, lets her head rest against his hip and closes her eyes again. Still not hearing anything outside the room, Kurt can only stay there staring at Cat in dread and taking small comfort in each time her little body rises and falls with her breathing. “He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead…” he chants under his breath, while Cat seems to be fast asleep, because that certainly sounds better than _he might be dying_.

He’s still muttering his mantra when finally the sounds come, outside the bedroom there are footsteps and doors opening, some hurried some dragging, but not a lot of voices. He stands back up and resumes to banging on the door, only half afraid that it might be an entire different type of people opening it, rather than Blaine or someone from the house.

Slowly, the window reappears on the wall – early morning sunlight suddenly filling the room – when the doorknob finally gives into Kurt’s yanking and he pulls the door open. He’s barely stepped a foot outside of the bedroom and immediately he catches a glimpse of hazel eyes and dark curls. He doesn’t even falter before he throws his arms around Blaine, clinging as humanely close as possible.

Underneath the smell of soot and sweat he can still make out Blaine’s unmistakable scent and presses his nose deeper into his skin, breathing in. Around him, Blaine’s arms are slower, but move to hold him close just as strongly nonetheless. He can feel Blaine’s hand holding the back of his head, fingers digging almost painfully into his scalp; all the while deep, shuddering breaths are drawn. Around them everyone disappears behind closed doors, an exhausted atmosphere taking over the house.

Alone in the corridor Kurt listens to their breathing, his hard and desperate, Blaine’s buried against the crook of Kurt’s neck.

“Blaine…” He breathes, shifting so he can speak next to Blaine’s ear, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“No…” His head shakes against Kurt’s shoulder.

“No, you’re not okay?” Kurt gasps, immediately moving to pull away but Blaine doesn’t let him.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Blaine corrects, strengthening his hold on Kurt and keeping him close.

They stand like that for another long stretch of time before Kurt can bring himself to worry about anything else. “Is anyone hurt?” he asks.

“Not exactly.”

Kurt pulls back at once and frowns, “Not exactly?”

Blaine shakes his head minutely – his face is dirty, there’s a bruise forming dark and big against his right eye, and his hair is in disarray, but at least there’s no blood anywhere. “No… I… it’s just cuts and bruises, I promise.” He’s clearly keeping something to himself, and now that the rush of relief has subsided, Kurt can’t help letting the panic and nerves of the last hours catch up with him and his body. It vibrates with nerves.

“What happened?”

“It’s not-”

“Tell me what happened, Blaine!”

Blaine’s eyes look pained and panicked as he looks around himself, toward the empty corridor. “Kurt, I swear-”

He shoves at Blaine’s shoulders. “Tell me!” Blaine is gaping, looking at him, white faced and speechless. Another shove, “You do _not_ get to lock me up all night, without any way of helping or even so much of _knowing_ what the hell was going on with you, and then come here and lie to my face and tell me nothing happened. _What happened_?”

“Kurt, please, I just-”

“Is someone hurt?!”

“No! I pro-”

“Did someone die?!” Kurt steels himself for the answer, already breathless before it comes.

“No! We-”

“Did anyone get captured and taken to a camp?”

Blaine falters. The word no that had been so ready at his tongue doesn’t come and he looks panic stricken all of a sudden. Kurt can feel the ground beneath his feet slipping away. Blaine’s face falls and he rushes to hide it behind his hands, his entire body suddenly shaking with shuddering breaths.

“What?!” Kurt gasps, “Who?”

“It’s not… it’s not anyone in the house,” Blaine sniffs, letting his hands fall limply back to his sides, taking deep breaths to regain control of himself, feeble as it may be, “It’s Brittany, you barely know her. It’s just-”

“That’s the girl Santana’s in love with!” Kurt gasps and Blaine’s right back to shuddering, clipped breaths as he nods and lets his whole body crumble to the floor.

“We got there too late. If only… we should’ve been there from the start… fuck this lying around the house, we should’ve been _there_! I should’ve known! I should’ve known they knew about us, of course they did! Fuck – fuck – I ca – fuck – I can’t- I can’t! I can’t…”

“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, wrapping one hand around Blaine’s and squeezing carefully, “Blaine, please calm down. Just breathe.”

“I c-can’t!” he manages between gasps, sobs and tears.

“Yes, you can… listen to me, breathe with me. Just calm down. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale…” he says, and Blaine’s trying but, more than not, his breathing is interrupted by yet another forceful sob, “Blaine, you need to breathe… you need to calm down. Please…” Kurt keeps up his string of nonsense, wishing he knew how to do this properly, until Blaine seems close to manageable. He wraps an arm around his waist and hoists him up, “Let’s get you to bed, you’re just probably exhausted.”

Blaine lets out a bout of bitter, sarcastic laugh, followed closely by a tiny whimper and another sob, but he holds his breath and shakes his head, getting himself back in check.

“I’m _always_ exhausted, Kurt.”

Kurt has no idea what he should be saying at that, “I’m sorry…” he mutters, because it seems like the only thing even remotely close to appropriate, “I wish I could make it stop.”

Blaine looks up. He holds himself as if he’s keeping his body in check, as if he’s keeping his hands from reaching out for comfort or… whatever else. Kurt truly wishes he didn’t. “I… I… Kurt, you…do. You do… I, huh,… thank you.” He says, with some sort of finality. Kurt wants to ask what he’s thanking him for, but Blaine looks like he’s run out of words.

So instead, he puts his hands on his shoulders and directs him to the bed. Calmly, he helps Blaine out of his disgusting clothes and into clean soft pajamas. He wipes his face clean with a moist towel. Once he’s done, he moves to leave, but Blaine holds his wrist and just looks at him with desperately devastated eyes, and it’s not like Kurt would ever need much convincing before he slips into bed with Blaine, letting him pull Kurt’s arm around himself and curl their bodies flush together.

“Cat was everywhere…” Blaine mumbles, body still shivering and not from cold.

“What?”

“They plastered pictures of Cat everywhere, Kurt,” Blaine gasps, turning to look at him, “They knew who she was… where she was. Kurt… Kurt, they know I’m here.”

“Hey, hey, you’re safe now. They’re gone.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Blaine murmurs brokenly, “This is all my fault… I brought them here. They couldn’t… fuck, they couldn’t get to the house, so they attacked where they knew I’d still see… This is… this all my fault.”

“Hey, no, hey…!”

“Britt’s gone and it’s my fault…” Blaine gasps between broken breaths.

“That’s not true,” Kurt whispers soothingly, his hand splaying across Blaine’s speeding heart, and digging in, as he shuffles even closer, “That’s not true. You’re just in shock. You’re not to blame just because Cat was spotted by someone who could tell she wasn’t a normal cat… That was just bad luck, and it’s not your fault. It’s not, Blaine… just go to sleep, I’m right here, go to sleep.”

Blaine looks like he might want to protest but then he screws up his face and turns back around, pulling Kurt’s body tight around his.

It’s a long time before Blaine’s shuddering breaths give way to the deep lulling rhythm of sleep, and it’s an even longer time before Kurt can follow suit. Even then, it’s not a peaceful sleep for either of them – while Kurt barely manages to calm down his flurry of questions and thoughts, Blaine keeps gasping awake, scrambling to sit down and realize he’s back in his bed.

It seems, however, like a shared problem throughout the house, as it’s barely been a few hours before voices can be heard from the other side of the door. Kurt’s been awake for a full minute; calmly listening to the noises outside, when he notices that Blaine’s breathing isn’t deep or slow as he lies with his back to Kurt, facing the wall and holding the bed covers too tight over himself.

“Blaine,” he murmurs, “are you awake?”

The other boy nods.

“Have you been awake long?”

He nods again, before reluctantly letting go of the sheets and turning to face Kurt. His eyes are puffy and his nose is red, but his breathing is normal and there are no tears, “I couldn’t fall back asleep after the, what, third nightmare…?”

“Right…”

“I’m sorry I asked you to stay – you barely slept because of me.”

“It’s _fine_ , Blaine.”

He gives Kurt a feeble smile before he sits up and starts to get out of bed, “I should’ve just…, but… Anyway, I’m gonna go… away. You should try to get some sleep.”

“Away?! Blaine…! Don’t-”

“Kurt,” Blaine chuckles, but it barely has any heart behind it, “I meant like going to the kitchen or something. I’m not going to disappear for the greater good, or anything, don’t worry.”

“Oh.”

“I just… I’m not going to be able to catch any sleep, but you-”

“I’m not either.” Kurt gets to his feet at once, “Blaine, you locked me up in this room for hours on end, and I had no idea of what was happening, I couldn’t help, the only thing I could do was keep looking at Cat and hope she didn’t drop dead any second!”

Immediately Blaine’s arms wrap around himself, “We couldn’t take the risk of you getting hurt… we didn’t know what was going on at the time, and I…”

“I don’t care. You had no right doing that,” Kurt interrupts, stepping closer, and letting his anger from last night flow right through him, building up and getting out with relief, “The risks concerning my safety are my decision, and mine alone.”

“Kurt, you’re-”

“I could be the Queen of England, and you could be head of Secret Services, you still had no right to lock me up like that.”

Blaine frowns, and crosses his arms over his chest defensively, “What would you have done in my position? Even if you weren’t the crown prince, Kurt, you’re not fully trained or even close to that!”

“Did you lock Rachel up in her room, then?”

“I – no – of course not, I didn’t even have time to think about it, and she’s not… she’s not you. I just-”

“You just ** _what_**?” Kurt practically snarls.

“I just – I just needed you to be safe! That’s it, I wanted you safe, I didn’t have time to think about it. I didn’t know where they were, or who, how many, how hard it would be. I just knew the house was compromised, Kurt. And just the thought of, of losing- I, I… I’m so… I didn’t know what to do, I just, l-” Blaine stops himself abruptly. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. He seems to recollect his thoughts and Kurt wants to shake him up and beg him to stop trying to be so fucking put together all the fucking time, “I know you don’t want this, and I know you didn’t sign up for it, but Kurt, you’re our only hope, right now-”

“Stop **that**!” _D_ _on’t – don’t – don’t – don’t – don’t make it sound like you only care about that – don’t._

“What?”

 _Please tell me it was **me** you were scared about._ “You were always the one person in this damn house who treated me like a human from the start! Don’t do that! Just say you’re sorry and promise me you won’t do it again.”

“But I can’t!” Blaine gasps.

“Why not?”

“I need to know you’re _safe_ , Kurt!”

“Fuck! _Stop it_! I could be the crown prince for the universe and you wouldn’t get to decide that!”

“Oh please, it’s got absolutely nothing to do with that and you know it,” Blaine gasps, tears in his eyes, before he turns on his heel and walks out of the bedroom.

Kurt stares after him, breathless and frowning. “What…?” he gasps, before he starts after Blaine only to find himself practically collapsing against Mike outside the door.

“That was one… heated debate you were having there. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear.”

Kurt shrugs dismissively, and makes to walk around him when Mike’s hand lands carefully on his shoulder.

“If I may? It was hard for me, too, respecting Tina’s need to be there as well. Not – not in the way you’re thinking-” he rushes to add the moment that Kurt opens his mouth to argue (only Mike seems to assume he was going to say anything besides _I just really want to go ask Blaine what he meant by that_ ), “When I met her, she was still readjusting to life without magic, and she wasn’t fighting because of that, she was still in training – so I was used to going into things knowing that at least she was home safe and that meant I could focus on what I was doing. The first time she got back out there to fight, I was paralyzed with fear.”

“I don’t…”

“He’ll apologize, he will. And he’ll come around – I did.” He shrugs and smiles softly, “But you know, the fear you were feeling for him all night, he feels it, too, for you.”

“No, he’s just scared he’ll lose his precious crown prince…”

Mike gives him a pitiful look, “Kurt… come on. You think Cat sleeps with you because you’re the crown prince?”

Kurt groans. He wants to tear out everyone’s hair if they’re going to keep bringing this up because it’s just that stupid. It’s just a _cat_. It’s Blaine’s cat, sure, but it’s still just a cat with a will of its own. “What’s Cat got to do with anything?”

Mike sighs and shakes his head, “Maybe you should ask _him_ that.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I’m telling you this isn’t a conversation you want to have with _me_.” Mike’s tone is infuriatingly calm as he just squeezes Kurt’s shoulder and walks away.

“Why is everyone just walking away and refusing to tell me anything?!” Kurt calls after him, but the only response he gets is Puck sticking his head out of his bedroom and shrugging.

Frustrated, Kurt makes his way to the kitchen. There are too many people inside, Blaine included. He’s almost mad enough to ignore the audience and press the subject, but he leaves it at a glare to which Blaine immediately drops the apple he was barely eating in the trash can and leaves the kitchen, the sound of a door slamming heard soon after.

“What the fuck, man?” Sam frowns towards Kurt.

Kurt opens his mouth to tell him to mind his own business before Santana rounds the corner and quietly makes her way to the fruit basket. As every eye follows her, wary and awkward, she picks up an orange.

“Conference room in five minutes. Get everyone,” she says, sounding too calm and not at all like herself. She stays long enough to watch them nod in response, and then she’s off.

“I’ll go round up the guys,” Finn mutters before slipping out of the kitchen, toast in hand.

Kurt can barely manage the thought of food in that moment, so he just wordlessly makes his way towards the conference room, not waiting to check if anyone’s coming as well. He takes the seat he took the first time they brought him here before he remembers that Blaine had been sitting next to him. He makes to move, but right at that moment people start filing in, and occupying their, assumed, usual chairs. Rachel timidly makes her way to one of the vacant ones, and Kurt realizes it’s the first time she’s been invited to one of these meetings – talk about an initiation ritual.

Blaine comes accompanied by Sam, who has an arm around his shoulders and is squeezing him comfortingly. Kurt pretends to look the other way as their eyes cross, but he doesn’t miss how Blaine looks absolutely depressed. In his peripheral vision, he can see as Blaine reluctantly makes his way to the chair next to Kurt and sits down.

“I _am_ sorry,” Blaine mutters after a moment of heavy silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel… like that… I just…” he sighs, sounding disheartened and dejected, “I acted on impulse, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Kurt turns to look at him, and can’t help feeling the heavy strings around his heart loosening significantly. He nods, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Blaine murmurs, meeting Kurt’s eyes with his hazel, wide and hopeful.

“Yes, okay. I forgive you,” he says, and upon Blaine’s disbelief, he adds, “What? You think I like fighting with you?”

Blaine just goes back to stare at his own hands, taking a deep breath and chewing on his lip.

“Besides, if you died from dehydration of crying too much, I don’t think I’d be able to cope with the guilt,” he offers, trying for a laugh and receiving a tiny smile and an eye roll in return. “I can work with that…” he sighs, to which Blaine looks up and smiles a millimeter more.

“I think we need to talk, Kurt.”

“I think so, too.” He nods with a deep breath and a placating smile, just as Santana walks in.

She takes one look at Blaine and the seat vacant on his other side before she pointedly makes her way towards one of the few empty chairs at the end of the table. Will trails distractedly after her, rubbing the scruff on his chin, while everyone just looks between Santana and Blaine, swallowing in dry, pressing their lips into thin lines and widening their eyes. Kurt frowns and turns to look at Blaine who’s pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. He wants to ask what’s wrong but Will clears his throat and everyone’s eyes reluctantly turn towards him.

“Sue will be here soon, but Santana insisted we start now. I’m sure you can all understand what happened-”

“I can’t,” Kurt interrupts.

Will startles at that, and then concedes, “The information we had was that the government was planning a strike closer to the Dalton cell and they were prepared for that. Therefore, given the abruptness and change of direction, we can safely assume that they discovered this cell, and that they wanted to send us a message.” Will shrugs, “The house is too well protected for them, of course, so-”

“How did they find us, I…”

“Cat,” Blaine says, his answer short and clipped.

“It’s a safe bet to assume it was Cat, given the fact that there were pictures of her plastered all over the place,” Quinn adds, when Kurt seems even more confused, “She was missing the other day,…”

“I know, but… but she’s just a cat… she’s just a cat. I don’t get it, how did they even know what she was?”

“Oh, they know,” Santana drawls, “And they know _exactly_ whose she is, don’t they?”

“Okay, that’s well off the point right now,” Will interrupts, his voice diplomatic and forcibly calm, “First of all, we need to understand if the cell is compromised. If we stay here, there’s the danger of more attacks,”

“Didn’t you just say that the house is too well-protected for that?”

“He means to the village,” Santana interrupts, but doesn’t comment any further.

“Well, yes. But they may have assumed this was enough for us to scamper off and leave it alone, or be waiting for us to do exactly that. I’m not sure what we should do,” Will admits, “I’d like to wait for Sue, she’ll probably have information that’ll help us with that. Now, as far as a counterstrike goes, I don’t think your suggestion is a good idea, Santana.”

“Why not? They probably haven’t moved those people to a proper camp, yet. We can find out where they hold them, we can-”

“We’ve been planning a strike on the Branc camp for a month now, Santana. We’ve got it down to practically every detail. We have nothing on their holding facility. It’s never been a target, and-”

“We make it a target now! We can’t afford to wait until they move them! We don’t know which camp they’re sending them, too!”

“But we have _nothing_ on it!” Will argues, clearly a little lost, “It’s not feasible.”

“Your _ass_ is not feasible,” she bites back, standing and slamming her hands against the table in a display of fury and drive that makes everyone flinch, “Keep your fancy words to yourself and don’t even try to sound like you give a fuck. You’re just being a coward!”

“Santana,” Blaine sighs, his tone small and depressed. “I’m so sorry… But any other time you’d be the one telling us it’d be insane to forgo Branc and go for the holding facility.”

“Don’t,” she growls through gritted teeth.

“We can’t just change everything…” Blaine sounds a little apprehensive as he says it, Santana looking more and more aggravated with each word. “I’m so sorry, but it’s not even close to a good idea… we can’t.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you say that if _he_ wasn’t right there next to you,” she spits, with contempt, jerking her hand towards Kurt.

“San, we just _can’t_.”

“And who gives you the right to decide that, huh? ‘Cause I sure as fuck didn’t vote for you, _Anderson_.”

A heavy, uncomfortable silence fills the room after that. Kurt wants to tell Santana that calling him that was completely out of line and exaggerated – it’s not like Blaine was being particularly authoritarian, he was just being reasonable and trying to explain Will’s point – but as soon as he notices the way everyone’s suddenly gone white-faced and tight-lipped, he shuts his mouth and turns to Blaine. He looks as if Santana has just slapped him. Repeatedly.

It’s a long time before Blaine so much as breathes again. He closes his eyes, clearly struggling to maintain his composure, before he grits out “Excuse me”, stands up and leaves in a near sprint.

Like it always seems to happen in this house, just as Kurt is debating whether he should follow Blaine and try to understand what just happened, another loud ringing noise, like the night before, pierces through the house – however the lights don’t flicker or turn red, and instead of generalized panic, Will stands. “That must be Sue, I’ll be right back.”

For as curious as Kurt might be about this Sue individual, he can’t shake how devastated Blaine looked just know, and he leaves to find him. His bedroom is empty, so Kurt figures he’s probably outside, getting some air. He jogs past Will and through the front door, and finds Blaine curled in on himself, with his knees to his chest, on the front porch.

Up ahead he can see two figures approaching – what seems to be a tall, blonde, short-haired woman and a slightly shorter brunet man, but he ignores them for now and sits carefully next to Blaine.

“Hey…”

Blaine lays his head sideways on his knees, looking at Kurt through red-rimmed eyes, “Hi.” His voice is thick and feeble.

“I think I should definitely get you a glass of water,” Kurt tries, and Blaine barely manages to smile.

“I just want today to be over,” he murmurs.

“I’ve had those days…” Kurt nods slowly, just as the woman and the man reach hearing distance.

“Sue!” Will calls from right behind the boys, and Kurt startles, having forgotten he was even there.

“Will,” the woman calls back, “I hope you don’t mind that Jesse tagged along. But I’ve been trying to get him as involved as possible – you know how grooming goes.” Next to Kurt, Blaine seems to be bristling at the mere sight of the two, and as Will doesn’t say anything, she continues, taking in her surroundings. “Oh,” she smirks, staring Kurt in the eye, “So it is true. Jesse here told me the streets were abuzz with his arrival, but I wasn’t sold on it.”

“What? How abuzz?” Blaine gasps, suddenly dropping any sign of animosity, looking nervous and panicky.

“Underground, mostly,” Sue reassures still looking Kurt over and sneering significantly before she turns to Blaine and grins, “Anderson,” she greets him with a sly smirk, “Lovely to meet again. I see you persist in dashing every hope and dream your daddy dearest ever had for you and desecrating everything he’s worked so hard to build. I applaud you, though I must admit, I truly thought you’d be running back home by now,” Blaine clenches his jaw, while Kurt’s head starts in a whirlwind of confusion. Sue chuckles and continues as if she’d didn’t just turn Kurt’s brain inside out. “Honestly, when you didn’t want to come work with me, it nearly broke my heart. Good thing I found Jesse here. Almost as talented as you, triply more ambitious about it.”

Blaine glares at her but doesn’t speak or move.

“Let’s go inside,” Will’s voice says worlds away. Kurt barely registers as Sue and the other guy walk past them, into the house.

He can’t tear his eyes off Blaine, who’s still gritting his teeth, lips bitten tightly into a line while fresh, angry tears cascade down his cheek, and his chin trembles. Blaine holds himself together as if a single gush of wind could make him fall completely and irreparably apart. He’s looking resolutely ahead of himself, and yet, everything about him is intent on Kurt.

That’s when it finally hits Kurt.

“I don’t know anything about you,” he gasps, unable to keep the awe off his voice and the bewilderment off his face.

And just like that, Blaine crumbles. His head falls into his hands, fingers grasping at dark hair, while sobs wreck his shaking body, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m s-so sorry, Kurt…”

“Why didn’t you tell me? All those nights we stayed up talking – you know everything about me, _everything_!”

“I didn’t…” Blaine’s standing up shakily, “I didn’t know how, Kurt, I just-”

“How about ‘Kurt, that’s a nice story about your dad, and by the way, mine had your parents assassinated but, hey, good thing your pregnant mom made it out alive, though, am I right?’”

“Kurt…” Blaine gasps, eyes begging, “ _Please_ …!”

“You told me everything about that fucking man and you couldn’t tell me he was your father?”

“Would you?” He asks, barely managing any defiance and sounding mostly heartbroken and defeated. “If your father was a monster like that, would you go around telling people you were their son?”

“Since when is telling _me_ like telling _people_?”

“Kurt, it’s not-”

“Why couldn’t you just trust me that I wouldn’t judge you for it.”

“I… it’s… I just…”

“Oh my god. That’s it, isn’t it?” Kurt gasps, stepping back with the force of the realization, “You don’t trust me. You don’t trust me to keep myself safe, you don’t trust me to understand-”

“Kurt, _of course_ I trust you, I just – I was scared.”

“Of what? You can’t be scared of someone you trust, Blaine. Don’t lie to me,” he lets his voice cut through the freezing air between them, tongue feeling razor sharp.

“Kurt-”

“Don’t.” He holds his hand between them before he’s had all he can handle and hurries back inside, ignoring as Blaine calls after him.

He knows he should just take a moment to breathe and think things through, but he’s afraid of what that might mean, so instead he jogs back to the conference room, bursting inside, all too aware of interrupting whatever debate is happening and calling attention to himself. He waves a dismissive hand and takes whatever free chair is closest to him. Sue only falters for a moment before she continues on a tirade about interconnecting recent rumors of the bluebird’s arrival – (“Kurt, did anyone recognize you before Blaine?”; “No. I mean. I don’t think so. Maybe. Two guys tried to mug me or something. They definitely thought I was someo- _oh_ …!”) –, and last night’s attack with the suggestion that they should maybe ditch Blaine because he was too high profile and identifiable as a semi-leader, to which Kurt’s first instinct is still defend Blaine’s honor, but he manages to catch himself before the first word tumbles out.

Fearful that he’ll get around to thinking about other things – like the way that Blaine looked absolutely betrayed and beaten when Kurt left him on the porch, or the way he can recognize the bitter taste in his mouth as the lingering feeling Kurt always got whenever he fought with his dad and knew he’d gone too far, never quite knowing when to stop – he pays rapt attention to what’s being said around the table. Sue, like everyone, although not nearly as gentle, lays it onto Santana about how absolutely insane they would be to go after a facility they know nothing about including where it is, and reinforces that they should strike the Branc camp as soon as possible, especially taking into account that there are plans to reinforce it in the next month.

“Can I be honest?” he interrupts after the noise in his head becomes too much and he just needs to do something to distract himself, “I think you’re being too cautious…” he shrugs. “You’re doing everything secretly. Who knows about these camps you’re raiding?”

“The point is that no one knows about us,” Sue says with a drawl.

“ _Why_ , though?” He frowns, “People can’t put their trust in something they don’t know exists. I get it that the true target is the guy upstairs – but wouldn’t it be easier if we weren’t just a handful of guys in a basement?”

“There are a dozen cells-”

“No, I get that. I just don’t get why people shouldn’t know the Resistance exists – for god’s sake, you got John Anderson’s son working for you guys, and you don’t think that’s gold? You wanna ditch him because he’s high profile? Are you actually insane? What kind of message do you think that says about John Anderson as a power figure if his own _son_ is out and about wreaking havoc _against_ him? In fact, why shouldn’t people know _I’m_ here? Why shouldn’t they know I stand with you? Haven’t you guys ever heard of marketing? You need to sell a product here, and it’s freedom. Trust me, everyone’s gonna want it. You just need to tell them they can _have_ it.”

There are a lot of eyes on him, most of them surprised and taken aback, but none of them ridiculing or doubting him.

“Okay, so they plaster an entire village with pictures of Cat to let you know that _they know_ you’re here,” he scoffs. “They’re trying to tell you you should be scared. This is an open line of communication you got here, and if you ask me, the polite thing to do is answer back.”

“How so?” Quinn quirks an eyebrow as almost everyone is still speechless.

“Tell everyone I’m here. They deserve to know,” he urges them, “Just because you’re trying to protect someone doesn’t mean you get to keep things from them,” he says, watching from the corner of his eye as Blaine leans against the doorframe.


	10. Anderson

Blaine was three years old when a pretty little cat came up to him while he played outside in the snow. It was a rare occasion, that he got to play outside, let alone in the snow, because his mother seemed to dislike it when he did, but Cooper sometimes managed to either convince the nanny to let them or entirely trick her into thinking they were inside like always. Cooper was older than Blaine by several years so he was allowed to look after him and tell him what to do – it didn’t bother Blaine very much, because, as it turned out, Cooper was much more fun than his father, his mother or even his nanny. Case in point, Cooper let him play outside and in the snow almost as often as he asked.

On one of those occasions, when Blaine was three, a cat came up to him.

The cat was small and slender and its fur was a very nice shade of maroon. Blaine giggled and reached out to touch it – despite the innumerous times his mother had scolded him for trying to pet strange animals. The pretty cat never even hesitated before its little head was leaning into Blaine’s chubby hand. Blaine felt a burst of energy and happiness inside of him, and even as young as he was, he would never forget how it felt. Later in his life he would understand other feelings that came attached – belonging, love, companionship, hope, a drive and need to do _everything_ and the feeling that he _could_. But at the time, three years old, he just knew that it felt _really_ good.

He laughed and immediately pulled the little cat towards himself – it went willingly, and let Blaine’s arms squeeze it as tightly as they could (which was thankfully not a lot), and stayed in his lap as the boy finally found himself petting a wonderful, cute animal and wondering if he could keep it, sleep with it every night and just hold it like this forever. He was so enraptured by this wonderful new experience that he almost didn’t notice as around him the snow melted and thawed, and flowers grew, strong, beautiful, colorful! First, bursting from under the pure white snow, a beautiful red rose – the prettiest and the biggest that Blaine had ever seen, and he reached out to touch and yelped with pleasure! His mother had never let him touch the roses on her vases even though she knew they were his favorite! Then several daisies popped up, looking adorable, and so, so bright! And a sunflower! And lilies! And, oh, he’d never seen that one, it was so _big_!

Blaine giggled and squealed, holding the cat tight as he watched the flowers grow in size and number around him. He stumbled to his little feet and twirled in place to find that they were _everywhere_.

“Coop! Coop!” he squealed, excitedly.

Cooper wasn’t smiling or laughing like Blaine, though. He looked mighty serious, like when father was scolding the two of them whenever they were found outside the castle without permission. He was looking around them, glancing at windows and worrying his lip.

“Coop!” Blaine insisted, sure that his brother was not fully aware of the wonderful things happening around them, “Spwing!”

Cooper didn’t do anything but stare as Blaine sprinted to the closest, biggest, yellow flower and took in a deep, deep breath, only to stop midway and sneeze, falling backwards from the intensity, and not even waiting two seconds before dissolving into giggles. The cat licked his little nose, and he giggled some more.

Finally, managing to get back up, he bounded over to Cooper and offered him the cat, so he could pet it as well – Blaine had quickly decided that there were very little things in life better than petting cats, so naturally he wanted his brother to experience it as well – and Cooper had stood still for a very long moment before he kneeled in front of Blaine, smiling carefully and asking, “What do you want to call your new cat?”

“I keep it?” Blaine gaped, elated beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

“I think you have to, Blainey.”

Blaine squealed and held on to it even tighter – the cat, miraculously, didn’t seem to mind.

“But mom and dad can’t know, okay?”

Blaine pouted, “Why?”

Cooper paused for a long minute, looking up at the castle and frowning and then he finally said, “They’re very, very allergic to cats, so they’re very scared. If they knew they’d make it go away. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No…!”

“We’ll keep it in my room for now, okay? I’ll let you play with it every day, I promise.”

“’Kay.” Blaine smiled. Even as a three year old, he could appreciate his brother’s gesture of good will. It wasn’t every day that Blaine got what he wanted – it wasn’t every day he got to play outside and make snowmen, it wasn’t every day he got to eat chocolate cake, it wasn’t everyday he got to have company besides his surly nanny, it wasn’t every day he got to be with his father, or even his mother, despite the way he always missed them, it wasn’t everyday he got a smile out of either of them, it wasn’t everyday that he got a hug or a kiss, and it certainly wasn’t every day he could pet a cat, let alone keep it.

Even as a three year old, Blaine had gotten fantastically used to not getting what he wanted – which only meant that compromising was something he instinctively did.

-x-

He was six years old when he finally understood why his parents could never find Cat – which they miraculously never had.

He was idling around the castle. Cooper in one of his insufferable moods – since he officially became a teenager, he’d stopped wanting to hang out with Blaine altogether, - and his parents, as usual, were too busy to keep him company. He’d long learned how to dodge the nanny after study time because no company at all was better than hers, he thought as he rubbed the sore skin of his hand where she’d hit him with the ruler when he didn’t read the word properly. To make matters worse, the castle wasn’t exactly bursting at the seams with kids his age to play; in fact, there were none and Blaine had long ago resigned himself to spending most of his time alone. Cooper would let him see Cat everyday, but he never let him take her out of the bedroom, and while Blaine sort of understood why it had to be that way, it was still frustrating not to get to spend his days with his best friend.

So, while he _sort of_ understood the reasoning behind Cat’s imprisonment, and didn’t exactly want his parents having a severe allergic reaction and making Cat go away, still, Blaine had taken to kidnapping her away in days where Cooper was being particularly difficult or mean to Blaine. Cat seemed to understand Blaine perfectly, and vice versa, and there was the fact that amazing things seemed to happen whenever they were together.

On those days he would keep to parts of the castle where he knew his parents didn’t go very often (or anyone else, really), and talk to Cat about how boring life in the castle was without anyone to play with him, or how Cooper kept making fun of him all the time, or how his father barely spoke to him anymore since he found Blaine happily picking flowers in the gardens, or how even his mother had stopped reading him bedtime stories or even tucking him in, insisting he was big boy now, and big boys didn’t need those things.

The next month he was supposed to start military classes, and he wasn’t sure if he would like them, or even if he was going to be any good at them. Cooper always won when they fought, and he was scared he’d just be bad at those too and they’d tell his father, and his father would stop talking to him altogether.

That day, though, Blaine was avoiding thinking about it as he made an adventure out of finally exploring the dungeons. It was colder than he expected, but it was still pretty neat. His father certainly wouldn’t think he was a sissy anymore if he knew that Blaine was capable of walking around those dark, humid halls without feeling scared (even if he had to have Cat there). But of course, father could never know, because if his parents found out he would be grounded – and Blaine had been grounded enough times to know that if there was anything worse than not having anyone to play with, it was staying all day in his room, with his backside hurting from all the spanking, _and still_ not having anyone to play with.

As he moved deeper into the dungeons, he found that there were guards up ahead, in front of a big door, and his curiosity spiked. He couldn’t see any way to get past them without their knowing, so instead he did what he always did and what seemed to work most times, except when it came to his family. He walked up to them, concentrating on looking his most innocent and convincing self, and asked “Excuse me, can I go in there?”

The two men opened their mouths, barks of laughter dying off as Blaine thought about how much he wanted to know what was inside and tugged insistently at on of their hands. Suddenly one of them said, “Yes.” And the two stepped aside.

He beamed and pushed the heavy door open before turning around and saying, “Oh, and please don’t tell my parents. Thank you very much!”

It was another long corridor with more heavy doors, and he found that they were all unlocked, leading to empty rooms, until the very last one, where, as he pushed the door open, he found a woman sitting carefully on the edge of a very small and drably looking bed. Her hair was long and mostly silver though Blaine could still catch streaks of gold in them, and her eyes were a very vivid green, despite the light wrinkles that marked her thin, long face. Her clothes were worn and frayed, but perfectly clean. As she looked back at him she smiled, a kind open smile, and whatever reservations the young boy could have had, disappeared instantaneously.

He smiled tentatively, picking up Cat so she wouldn’t go over and smell the woman – it would probably be considered rude to have your cat smelling strangers – and said very carefully, “Hi. Who are you?”

She tilted her head and seemed to consider him for a moment. Blaine felt stiff and uncomfortable under the steady gaze. It felt like when he’d do one of those things he could never explain, and he had to come up with something to tell his parents about it, because Cooper insisted he had to lie.

“Hello, Blaine,” she finally said.

“You know my name?”

“I was there when you were born.”

“Oh. Were you the midwife?”

The woman smiled, “Not at all.”

“Okay. Who are you?”

“My name is Isabelle,” She said slowly.

“Is this your bedroom?” Blaine asked, encouraged by the previous answer, “Why do you have guards in front of it? Why don’t you go outside? Don’t you like it? Are you lazy?”

The woman chuckled, before shaking her head, “I simply can’t.” She shrugged. “You know, that’s a very nice cat you have there. Do you mind if I hold her?”

“Of course,” Blaine said happily, stepping inside the room and holding out Cat. As he stepped inside something felt tight around him, but he ignored it.

“What’s her name?”

“Cat.” Isabelle raised an eyebrow and Blaine shrugged as he dropped down to sit on the floor in front her, folding his little legs, “I didn’t know what kind of name cats usually have, and I didn’t know what name she wanted to have. I didn’t want her to be stuck with something she didn’t like.”

Her lips stretched into a wide smile, but there was no malice or teasing behind it, “That’s very kind of you, Blaine.” She said, “I’m sure Cat appreciates it. Do you enjoy her company?”

“Yes, she’s my best friend.”

“That’s wonderful…” Isabelle murmured, barely above a whisper.

“Do you have a best friend too?”

“I do. But I haven’t seen him in a long time. He’s alive, but I do wish I could still see him.”

“Why can’t you?”

She seemed to consider the question before saying, “It’s a delicate situation.”

“Is he a cat, too?”

“No. Mine is a beautiful swan.” She smiled and took a deep breath that Blaine had come to recognize as adults being sick of his never-ending questions. This time, however, Isabelle turned back towards Blaine and sighed fondly, “He found me when I was four. I miss him very much. When did Cat find you?”

“I was three,” Blaine answered after thinking for a minute.

Isabelle’s eyebrows rose and her smile was very big and very bright, “Is that so?”

Blaine nodded happily, and immediately went off on a tirade about Cat and how much he loved her. Unlike Cooper or his parents, Isabelle didn’t seem to mind Blaine’s enthusiasm and penchant for talking a lot and too fast, so Blaine found himself spending the entire afternoon with her. And the day after that, and the day after that, too. He found, quickly enough, that Isabelle had a lot of wonderful stories to tell him.

“Do you know about enchanters, Blaine?” she had asked him one day.

“My father says they’re not very nice people.”

“Do you think I’m nice?”

“Of course!”

“I’m an enchanter, Blaine. I’m a witch.”

It had taken a little more than a moment to adjust to the idea, but once Isabelle showed him all the things she could do he was in love with magic. She would light the corridor outside with all the colors of the rainbow, she could make any flower Blaine requested grow from between the stones making up the floor if the corridor, she could make water trickle down the walls, or fire burn cozy, or even turn the air outside her room warm and pleasant. How could someone be evil and be able to create such pretty, nice things? No, his father had to be wrong! He probably didn’t know any enchanters! He needed to see Isabelle!

When he told her this much, she smiled softly and told him that was not going to help, at all. She told him that sometimes people didn’t do very well with the extraordinary, and that it made them afraid. And then she’d said, “I know you can do things, too, Blaine. Things that no one can explain. Magic things.”

“I…. I…”

“You’re a wizard, Blaine. You’re just like me.”

“What?” he gasps, “I am?”

“Don’t you feel… trapped in this room? Like it’s too small for you?”

“Yes…” he frowns. “But it is small.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, “No, what you’re feeling his the stem powder laced across the walls and in my shackles. It blocks our magic from happening within these walls. That why I can only show you those things outside the cell. And our magic tries to struggle against it, but it can’t – and that’s why you feel trapped inside the room. Good thing you never close the door behind you, or we’d actually be trapped here together.” She gave him a nice, good-natured wink and a laugh.

“Are… are you sure?”

“Yes, Blaine. I’m sure.”

He can’t do anything but frown at that. It shouldn’t make any sense, but it does.

“People will want to take that away from you, Blaine, they’ll want to abuse it; but you mustn’t let them.” She leaned in very close, “You must hide it, don’t let anyone know about it – don’t show Cat to _anyone_. Only Cooper and me.”

“Cooper said mother and father are allergic to cats, anyway. They wouldn’t like it if they knew about her.”

“Smart boy, Cooper.” She smirked. “Promise me, Blaine. Promise me you won’t let anyone see Cat or your powers?”

“Why Cat?”

“She gave them to you!” Isabelle beamed, “Cat gave you the gift of Magic, she chose to give it to you, and you should be very happy she did, young man. It’s a big honor. But if they find her, they will take her away from you, they might even take away your magic if they kill her.”

“Oh…” Blaine sighed, “I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I.”

“But I can’t control it, sometimes. I can’t help it! Sometimes I get angry with Coop and one time a lot of water fell on him! I swear I didn’t mean to! But I was so angry!”

“I can teach you to control it, Blaine. I just need you to trust me.”

“You can?!” Blaine gasped; relief washed over him, as the thought of keeping himself in check and not having to lie all the time settled into his mind and brought a wide grin over his face.

Isabelle returned his smile and nodded, “I really can.”

-x-

Blaine was eleven years old when he realized that his father might not be a very nice person. His afternoons with Isabelle in the dungeons had, of course, made him question it, but when he shared his concerns with Cooper, his older brother only told him not to be silly and shut up. As an eleven year old sitting outside of his father’s office, overhearing his rant to that tall colonel man that always made the hairs on Blaine’s body stand, Blaine couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t silly at all.

Everything his father ever said about enchanters and wizards in particular made Blaine feel extremely uncomfortable, and as the years had gone by he’d understood beyond a doubt that he could never find out about Blaine being a wizard. His time with Isabelle had taught him that magic was beautiful and wonderful, and that it should always be used to improve the world and protect life, never to harm them, and the fact that his father treated it like the biggest evil imaginable made Blaine painfully aware that something strange was going on. Torn between his father and Isabelle, he had to admit that she seemed to be the only one capable of proving her side to Blaine – and it wasn’t like Blaine was ready to think of himself as evil, at any point of his life. Sure, he’d knocked down a few vases and spilled some foods on his bed whenever he managed to sneak them after hours, but those didn’t mean he was evil, right?

As time had passed, it became of habit of Blaine’s to leave Isabelle’s cell, drop Cat off at his own bedroom, and sit down outside of his father’s study listening in on his meetings, or sometimes enjoying the silence of his father simply reading or writing. He felt a desperate need to try to understand everything going on around him, and the only way he could even begin to achieve that was listening in on his meetings, but he liked it much better when his father was silent, because it meant he could imagine a completely different man who didn’t yell or harass people almost daily. This growing discomfort towards his father, and the way he couldn’t help wishing he had a different family left him, most days, feeling a little empty and guilty because he’d always thought children were supposed to love and look up to their parents. Instead, he felt anything but that.

Even his mother had grown more and more distant through the years, and Blaine had no idea how to even begin to approach her. While he was afraid and scared of his father, most of the time, of his mother he was estranged. He’d tried – he’d tried asking her about magic, about the world outside the castle, about many things – but she brushed it off, placated him, told him clichés and lies he’s pretty sure a two year old could see through. And he’d been given no choice but to give up and admit to himself the possibility that his mother simply didn’t love him. She might not hate him, like his father so clearly did, but she didn’t love him.

In the end, he just didn’t know what to do anymore… how to be part of a family that clearly didn’t want him there. Hell, he didn’t know if _he_ even wanted to be part of it.

On that day, not long after his eleventh birthday, Blaine overheard something that tipped the scale entirely and irreversibly.

His father had been, like a couple of times before, bullying some poor man for answers on the whereabouts of some group of people, while three other men helped him. Somehow, even though Blaine could hear the man groaning and whimpering many times, he had not said a word.

At the sound of “I don’t have time for these games! Bring her to me.” Blaine had frowned and stood back up, leaning until one of his eyes was aligned with the keyhole and he could see a slither of his father’s office. The opposite door was opened and closed and Blaine waited for a few minutes before two guards were coming inside with Isabelle between them. Her arms were held in tight grips, but she stood upright, and her chin was raised. She looked magnificent, despite the men holding her or her ratty robes.

“I need you to force this one to tell me the truth,” Blaine’s father had said.

Isabelle turned her icy glare from the man towering behind his desk and looked somewhere Blaine couldn’t quite see. She eyed whatever or whoever it was for a moment, before she turned back to John Anderson and said, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“He can’t speak.” She shrugged.

John Anderson rolled his eyes, “I’m sure you can find a way to work around that, or need I remind you what’s at stake for you?”

She seemed to shrink immediately, though her back remained impossibly straight and her shoulders forcibly squared, “No. There’s no need to remind me,” she got out through gritted teeth, “And I suppose me doing what you’re asking me can’t be reason enough for me to see my family again?”

“I think them not dying is encouragement enough. And should I remind you what you misleading us will do to them?”

The wheels started turning in Blaine’s mind at once, and he was going to be sick.

He took off sprinting towards his room, not caring or daring to stay there another second. Over the years he’d realized that Isabelle was not in that cell out of her own free will, of course, but he’d always assumed she’d done something wrong to get his father angry at her (Blaine knew better than anyone how severe John Anderson was when it came to punishing bad deeds).

He could never in his life have imagined that his father was keeping her for her powers. Powers that he claimed to abhor – powers that, as he’d said multiple times, he wanted to annihilate because they were used evilly and abusively toward good innocent people, powerless to stop the advances of “magical tyranny”. Why would he force her to work for him like that if he despised magic so much? Even as young as eleven years old, Blaine wasn’t stupid enough not to understand that his father was threatening to kill Isabelle’s family if she didn’t cooperate.

And that the only crime she’d committed was to have something he didn’t.

Until then, Blaine might have been naïve enough to think there were truly bad guys out there that used their magic for evil and that his father needed to stop them, and that his bullying was just a means to an end,… but that day he knew it in his gut that a man who held a family captive to make someone work for him, a man whose idea of a normal day was to scream at people and hurt them to get whatever answers he thought he might find, a man who inspired fear instead of respect or admiration… _that_ man wasthe bad guy.

That evening Blaine faked illness in order to get out of dinner – he could barely stand the thought of looking at his father. The following week, he disappeared into his bedroom instead of attending the annual Anderson ball – the thought of being part of such a celebration making his insides churn. And the following month, he vowed to find and set free Isabelle’s family so she could be free as well.

Isabelle had smiled and hugged him, as he told her that, but then shook her head and made him promise that he would never risk getting caught, not even for her.

“Even if they did find out, they can’t threaten me with killing _my_ family,” he says defiantly, puffing his chest out.

“They could threaten _your_ life,” Isabelle told him, “They could threaten Cat’s.”

“He’s my father,” Blaine murmured, frowning at the way the words sounded silly and empty even as he said them, “He wouldn’t.”

“Blaine, I don’t think that’s a chance you should take.”

“You think they’d kill Cat?” His heart felt like led in his chest.

“If they kill her, you lose your powers.” She’d told him sweetly.

“Isabelle… but… what if they do find out?!” Blaine gasped, only then realizing the risk in every stroll he ever took with Cat, or every simple piece of magic he’d do, just because it was that tiny bit easier.

She considered the question for a moment, before leaning in and grasping Blaine’s shoulders, “You run. Don’t ever look back. Not for me, not for anyone. Run, take Cat with you and disappear. Never come back for me, _ever_. There’s a group out there – the Resistance, they’re trying to take out your fa- this government, but they’ll never be able to do that as long as I’m here, under the government’s control. The Resistance needs someone with them who’s as good as me.” She took Blaine’s hand, “Maybe better…”

“I’m not better than you.” He frowned, “I’m not even as good as you.”

“You _will_ be.” She pulled him closer, “Please, Blaine, I need you to promise me, that when the time comes, you will go.”

“I…” Blaine swallowed, the whole thing seemed too sudden and yet not at all, “Okay…” he nodded, barely understanding what he was promising, but knowing it needed to be promised.

-x-

Blaine was thirteen when he finally met other people his age that lived in the castle. No longer accompanied by Cat, no longer capable of overhearing his father, and finally freed from the shadow of a nanny attempting to follow him, he’d taken to exploring other parts of the castle after his visits to Isabelle. The kitchen was where he met Kitty, who was a maid’s daughter. She was haughty and very spirited, and she didn’t like Blaine very much – however, the lack of thirteen year olds forced them together, and with time she learned to tolerate him without insulting him every five minutes. It might have had something to do with Blaine’s persistence to make a new friend.

Of course Kitty wasn’t the only one – in time he’d come to spend so many time among the help that he’d become _almost_ friends with them, too, despite the fact that they were all adults. Unlike Kitty, the adults were always kind to him, but Blaine felt like it came from a place of fear, where they indulged every single one of Blaine’s little whims, because they were afraid he’d tell on them. Blaine tried his very best to prove them otherwise, but still, they continued to tiptoe around him, or completely refusing to talk to him outside of the niceties. Still, it was better than nothing, and when he engaged them in conversation they would at least make an effort to talk to him.

At some point, though, a new cook was brought in, and Milly Rose and her daughter, Marley, were easy friends to make. Kitty was about as fond of Marley as she had been of Blaine at first, but the three of them managed to become a strange little trio of best friends. The beginning was hilarious: Kitty, outspoken as she was, was never afraid to bring to Blaine’s attention how much of an asshat his father was, and while Blaine never contradicted her, Marley always blushed scarlet red staring in a panic between the two of them, sometimes kicking Kitty lightly over the shins. He would laugh at Kitty’s growls of exaggerated pain. Soon enough, though, Marley understood Blaine wasn’t particularly fond of his last name and stopped pretending there were no problems with it. In fact, it didn’t take long after he’d started hanging out with the help, to realize that not many people liked his father. Marley’s dad, for example, had been taken away many years ago because he didn’t agree with the government and they’d never seen him again.

Possibly even better than having actual friends was how, for the first time, an adult that wasn’t Isabelle and that didn’t know his deepest secret and relate to him because of it, treated him with unconditional kindness and acceptance. Milly Rose, gave him all the cookies he wanted, and not because she wanted to be on his good side, but because she knew he enjoyed and appreciated them. The way she smiled or winked at him was genuine and he could never stop himself from returning it, or even hugging her before leaving the kitchen. She ruffled his hair, and scratched the back of his neck affectionately. She patted his hand playfully when he tried to swipe a finger full of cookie dough. She sang and danced with him when it was just the two of them in the kitchen. With her, he finally understood this language that seemed to be bubbling up inside of him, but that no one around him had ever been able to speak back like he so needed them to: it was love, and she spoke in a way so perfect; like he never knew it was possible to understand it this well. For the first time in his life he felt completely, unconditionally and overwhelmingly loved.

While Isabelle was his mentor and teacher, Milly was… well… Milly was a mother he’d always dreamed of. Sometimes, Blaine would fall asleep to dreams of belonging to a home where Milly called him a son, and Marley a brother. Sometimes he would cry with how desperately he wanted it.

Once, as he came down to find Marley so they could venture off into the gardens together, he overheard daughter and mother talking. Marley was assuring Milly that she didn’t need anything special for her birthday, and Milly was trying to argue that everyone should get a soul necklace for their thirteenth birthday. To that Marley’s answer was, “We just don’t have the money, mom, but that’s alright. As long as I still have you.”

He thought of the beautiful soul necklace Isabelle had secretly given him when he’d turned thirteen. It felt too heavy against his chest.

A week later, on the eve of Marley’s birthday, after dinner when he knew barely anyone was there, he walked into the kitchen and found Milly. He sat carefully on a stool as he watched her mix up the dough for the next day’s bread. She observed him out for the corner of her eye, smiling quietly before saying, “I’m sorry, pumpkin, but there are no cookies tonight.”

“No, I know that.” He shrugged, “Tomorrow’s Marley’s birthday, right? She’ll be thirteen?”

“That’s right,” Milly said happily, “You little people grow up too fast. It was only yesterday she was saying her fist words.”

Blaine smiled, “I… I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard you talking the other day. I didn’t mean to… but I did. Do you really not have any money to buy a soul necklace for her?”

Milly’s smile dropped significantly before she could catch herself and plaster it back, “Oh, it’ll be fine! I’m saving up for it. You know how hard to come by those it is nowadays – the price just keeps going up, and I’m never very fond of those backdoor, shady market deals, anyways. But hey, it’s not like she needs it this moment, right? She’s not getting married tomorrow, or anything. I’ve got time.” She shrugged, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

“I… Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Blaine couldn’t help but pull his lip between his teeth, worrying over it.

Milly’s eyebrows rose and she stuttered for a while before she shook her head and chuckled, “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because my father’s not a very nice man.” He shrugged, trying not to let the suffocation at the thought show through, “Actually, he’s… he’s a very bad man. And I know most of you don’t like him. And, for example, you’re the best cook we’ve ever had in the castle, so how come you don’t even have enough money to buy a soul necklace for Marley? I would _hate_ my father if I were you.”

“Oh!” she gasped, her eyes very wide and her face suddenly a deep shade of red, “Blaine…!”

“I do hate my father, actually,” he whispered, irrationally afraid that for some insane reason his father was just outside, overhearing every word and bidding his time before he’d burst in and ground Blaine for life.

“Blaine, dear… I… I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so nice to me, when he’s so awful to you,” Blaine mumbled, his feelings suddenly too big for him and his eyes prickling with tears.

“Because you’re not him, Blaine, sweetie, you’re not,” she urged, taking her handkerchief and wiping his tears gently, “You’re nothing like your father, and anyone can see that.”

“Yeah?” Blaine sniffed.

“Yes.” Milly smiled, offering the handkerchief for him to blow his nose.

He took it shyly, using it quickly before adding in the smallest voice possible, “I have something… I… something I want you to give Marley.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and let his fingers curl around it. He extended it towards Milly and ignored the way his heart was thumping out of his chest. He was almost more eager for Milly to like it than Marley.

“What – Blaine?!” Milly gasped as she finally saw the necklace hanging off of Blaine’s hand.

“Do you like it? Do you think she’d like it?”

“Blaine! Where did you get this?” She gasped, “It’s not yours, is it? Or-, or…”

“No.” Of course not. Blaine knew better than to give his own – soul necklaces, Isabelle had told him, were very private and personal, “My father doesn’t even allows us to have one. He says they’re evil just like enchanters and I think he’s going to ban them soon.” He stops his nervous ranting at once, “Anyway… I… I made it. For her. Look… I think it suits her name.” Off of the golden chain, a beautiful pearly pink rose hung, and in its center, amidst the voluptuous petals, the clear-cut diamond glinted in the poorly lit kitchen in a mesmerizing way.

“You made it…?” Milly frowned, before suddenly grinning and breathing out, “Oh! So she’ll get to have one until I can buy her a real soul necklace! It’s so beautiful, Blaine, thank you, I hope it wasn-”

“No… It’s… it’s real.”

“But… Blaine, sweetie, I appreciate the gesture, really, but maybe you just didn’t know. Soul necklaces are made by a wizard or a witch only… you can’t-”

“I know that,” Blaine murmured.

“So you kno- Oh. _Oh_!” she gasped as she looked at Blaine, taking in the way he’d wrapped his arms around himself and looked over his shoulders.

“Don’t tell anyone!” Blaine pleaded, looking back to her, “Please, no one knows. They can’t.”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Cooper knows, but no one else. Please, Milly.”

“Of course… No, of course I won’t tell.”

“Thank you. And give that to her. Don’t tell Marley it came from me, just… I don’t know.”

“Blaine, I promise I’ll keep your secret safe.” She took him into her arms and held him tightly for a long moment. Blaine could feel the way her heart was beating too fast, but then again, so was his.

When he felt like he could walk and act like a normal human being again, he took a deep breath and pulled back. “I hope she likes it.” He gave her a fleeting smile before he started towards the door.

“Blaine!” she called after him, “It’s truly beautiful, you lovely boy!” she said, “You’re very gifted.”

-x-

Blaine was fourteen when he realized he couldn’t exactly trust Cooper. It wasn’t so much that he thought Cooper would tell their parents anything, but the way he kept glaring at Blaine whenever he knew that Blaine had done something with magic; the way he kept talking down to Blaine like he was stupid, or making fun of him in front of anybody and everybody.

Over the years they had grown apart, but between his brother’s increasingly recurrent travels and their age difference Blaine had always assumed it was normal. In fact, Cooper had often asked him not to be so annoying when Blaine was little, and it had stuck with him in a way that had, for years, justified Cooper’s dismissive attitude. But as he found Cooper glaring at Cat, on one of the rare occasions Cooper did stop by his brother’s room to catch up (mostly just telling Blaine about all the wonderful things he’d seen while travelling, or all the girls he’d met that had so clearly wanted to marry him), something finally clicked in Blaine’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked slowly, flicking his eyes between Cooper and Cat.

“What? Nothing, I was just looking. She seems fatter.”

“She’s not.” Blaine didn’t bother explaining that totem animals never grow older, bigger or change in any way.

“Huh…” Cooper didn’t look away immediately before he turned back to Blaine and quirked an eyebrow, “So how’s that working out, anyway?”

“How’s what working out?”

“Your magic… You seem to be getting it under control.”

He didn’t tell Cooper about Isabelle either, “Yes. I’ve been reading.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“Well…” Cooper drew out the word, “That’s good. We wouldn’t want you to set dad on fire with the death glares you keep giving him. What’s that about anyway?”

Blaine frowned, “What do you think it’s about, Cooper?”

His brother laughed and shook his head, “You’ll grow out of it, soon enough, Squirt.”

“Don’t call me that. And no, I won’t. Father would have Cat killed if he found out. How do I grow out of _that_?”

“Oh, please. Like it’s the end of the world losing your powers? Look at me. I don’t have any and I’m doing great.”

Blaine tried very hard not rolling his eyes, “It’s not like that. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, _Squirt_ , I know more than you – I’m older, I’m wiser, and I’ve seen the world out there. Trust me, I think you’d be better off. What’re you gonna do? Make a living out of opening portals and making soul necklaces?”

“How could I? Father’s going to make all of that illegal soon enough, isn’t he?” Blaine bit back, “Besides, that’s not everything wizards can do and you know it!” he crossed his arms over his chest and puffed it out in a way that didn’t look all that ridiculous since he’d started having sword fighting lessons, “Or at least it wouldn’t be if father stopped trying to keep them quiet and make everything illegal. You know he wants to makes us all live in one city, or something? Like we’re diseased and he needs to quarantine us. He’s actually forcing people to register as enchanters, and he wants to keep the totems as government property…!”

“Blaine, some of those people are dangerous. Of course I know portals and necklaces aren’t everything wizards can do, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? You can’t blame father for wanting to protect the people from that kind of danger.”

“Danger? When have enchanters ever threatened non-magical people? We’re _not_ evil.”

“You seem to forget that fifteen years ago those peop-”

“You’re mistaking elves for enchanters,” Blaine cut in, feeling as his blood started to boil and his face became red with anger, “And besides, I’ve heard a different story, I wouldn’t-”

“You’ve been hanging around with that Kitty girl, haven’t you?” Cooper asked, his glare accusatory and irritated, “I thought dad told you to stop!”

“Who am I supposed to talk to?! The walls?! Maybe father doesn’t want me talking to Kitty or Marley because they’re more likely to tell me the truth.”

“It’s just conspiracy theories, Blaine.” Cooper groaned, arms waving widely in angry movements, “You’re just being difficult for the sake of being difficult. I don’t know why you have to be like this – your life would be so much easier if you just-”

“If I just what?” Blaine interrupted, knowing that this conversation had to end sooner, rather than later, as he could already feel the prickling of angry tears and these were the times when he couldn’t entirely control himself or his powers yet, “Was more like you?”

“What’s so wrong with that? What? Because you have powers suddenly you think you’re special, or something? It doesn’t work like that, Blaine – you don’t get to escape every responsibility just because you do magic tricks,” Cooper sneered, clearly trying to get his temper back on track.

“Magic _tricks_?” Blaine gasped, “This is not magic tricks. This is _me_. It’s who I _am_. I don’t think I’m special because of that – I never… You think I hate our father because I want to be _different_? Just for the hell of it? Like I’m just being a rebellious little shit?”

“I don-”

“I hate him because he’s _evil_.”

“Don’t be stupid, Blaine,” Cooper warned, his grey eyes hard and intimidating, “Don’t say something you’ll regret.”

Blaine was well past being scared of his brother – he’d been past that point in many years. “You’re just jealous Cat chose _me_ and not you.”

The way Cooper suddenly hesitated in his answer, the way his eyes flashed with anger and his cheeks reddened at once...

“You are…!” Blaine gasped, anger gone and replaced with something cold and horrible in his stomach, “You’re jealous of me, you _are_.”

“Please.” Cooper got himself in check as quickly as he’d lost it; he rolled his eyes, “Grow up, Blaine.”

As he watched his brother slam the bedroom door behind himself Blaine could only hear the rush of blood in his ears. All those years Cooper had been jealous. All those years, he’d resented Blaine.

-x-

Blaine was fifteen when Kitty and her family disappeared.

Marley had come to him, with tears in her eyes, telling her that their small house in the gardens was in complete disarray and just as empty. “What?!” he’d gasped, jumping off his bed.

“They’re gone! They’re all gone!” she sobbed, “I knew I’d heard something, last night! I knew it! I couldn’t sleep all night, just knowing something was wrong.”

“Are you sure they’re not just out? Maybe they went on vacation…” he sputtered, already putting on clothes, and knowing full well how stupid his words were.

“Nobody goes on vacations. Just your family. The place is a complete mess!”

Blaine ignored the stab, and picked up his coat before he finally took off towards Kitty’s place. Their fast sprint echoed through the still empty corridors of the castle. Even though they knew they were not being the least bit stealthy or even discreet, there were bigger things to worry about. The air was brisk and cold outside, summer completely and entirely gone. The eerie silence of breaking dawn, contrasting with the thunderous echo of their feet inside, startled Blaine to a full stop. Up in the distance he could see the small row of cabins for the castle’s staff. The third on the left had its door wide open. The flowerbeds that Kitty’s mother had always been so proud of were completely destroyed.

Blaine’s heart was punched back into action, and he ran all the way to the small house. The inside was just as Marley had described. Blaine could almost see the struggle happening before his very eyes – everything so glaringly obvious.

“Oh no…”

Blaine had never felt like this in his life. It felt like his heart was in his throat and his stomach was completely gone, completely and crudely ripped out, and yet all he wanted to do was throw up. He did. He managed to scramble outside just in time to retch onto the miserable looking remains of the Wildes’ daffodils.

Soon enough, Marley and Blaine were calling out for Kitty, entirely disregarding the ruckus they were making, and pounding on every door to see if she was there, or if they knew anything. The houses directly next to the Wilde’s most certainly knew something - but their lips were shut tight. Any other time Blaine wouldn’t have blamed them – they were just trying to keep their own families safe – but at that particular moment it took all of his restraint not to spit on their faces.

They stood panting in the middle of the castle’s ground, directionless and completely bereft, when Blaine’s brain finally clicked.

“The dungeons.” He gasped, “We need to check the dungeons.”

With that they took off back into the castle, rushing their way through corridors they knew like the back of their hands. Marley had never been to the dungeons, though, and it showed as she struggled to keep up with Blaine once they started into the cold humid corridors, and couldn’t help asking him where they were, and where they were going. They reached the guards and Blaine made quick work of them – if Marley noticed it, she didn’t say anything, instead following him.

Blaine banged every door open. In his life, he’d never seen more than two or three cells occupied at the same time, but he’d been so sure to see those extra three locked up. He was left at a complete loss by the time that he checked every cell, except Isabelle’s, to find them empty.

“Isabelle!” he cried, opening her door easily despite the lock, “Did they bring someone in this morning?”

“No.” She frowned, taking in the state he was in, “What happened, Blaine?”

“Kitty’s gone. Her whole family is gone. We don’t know what happened… I…! I don’t know what to do!”

Marley looked between the two of them, clearly confused, but not daring to say anything.

Isabelle walked over to Blaine and enveloped him in a hug, “Honey… I don’t think there’s anything you _can_ do.” She smiled sadly and thumbed his tears away, “I am so sorry.”

“Where did they take her?”

“I don’t know Blaine,” she murmured, “But your father does. I’m sure. Maybe you should find out.”

“I can’t ask him!” he gasped. Just the thought of confronting his father about it and risking jeopardizing anyone else – Marley and Milly. His father had finally understood that the best way to get to Blaine was through the people he loved. He knew that every time Kitty’s parents had a reprimand at work, or every time Milly’s paycheck was cut… he knew it was his father telling him to _shut up and grow up_.

He’d kept wondering how long it would be until one of the girls told him they couldn’t be friends anymore because it was too much trouble (once, he confided this in Kitty and she glared and told him, “Your father can’t tell me what to do and who to be friends with. Don’t be stupid, Blaine.”)

“I’m not saying you should ask him.”

“Oh. Right.” Blaine nodded, at once realizing what she meant, “Let’s go.” He grabbed Marley’s hand and pulled her back.

“Blaine!” Isabelle called and he turned back, already halfway through the narrow corridor, “Remember what you promised all those years ago!” she urged him, “If you think you have to go, _go_!”

“I… I will,” he agreed, throat tight and dry, “If I have to, I will.”

He tightened his hold on Marley’s hand and pulled her out of the dungeons with him. They ran, once more to places in the castle that were unfamiliar to Marley. She would have never been allowed in his father’s study or anywhere near it – very little staff was.

“Where are we?” she gasped, as Blaine bounded through corridor after corridor, effortlessly unlocking door after door.

“We’re going to my father’s study. There may be something there about Kitty.”

“What?” Marley breathed, “We can’t! What if he finds us there?!”

“He won’t! He’s still sleeping, and then he’ll go for breakfast. We’ve got plenty of time, come on.”

Upon arrival at his father’s office, the door swung carelessly open, Blaine had not expected to find his answers as easily as he did. Sprawled over his father’s desk were the plans for something Blaine had never seen, but didn’t take long to understand what it was. He’d heard the beginnings of it, when he was still capable of listening in on his father’s meetings. At eleven he hadn’t understood anything about it, but now… he can’t believe he never even remembered about it. In a matter of seconds his hands are shaking; his whole body is shaking. He can’t decide if he’s angry, scared or sad.

“What’s that?” Marley interrupted the loud downward spiraling thoughts in his head.

“It’s… a camp… for prisoners.”

“A jail?”

“No.” Blaine shook his head, “Bigger than that… And… not temporary.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not built with an exit.” Blaine swallowed in dry, and stepped away from the desk, feeling as it might actually burn him if he touched it, “Marley. You need to go home and act like nothing’s wrong.”

“What? Blaine what are you talking about? We need to find Kitty.”

“We’re not going to find Kitty. Not in time, anyway,” Blaine murmured, all the while committing himself to finding her and bringing her back home alive, “And if you keep asking about her, or if you tell anyone about the camps, they’ll take you, too. And your mother. Please, Marley, don’t do anything stupid. Please.”

“Blaine?! What – wait. Are you saying they took Kitty to one of these camps?”

“I think so.”

“And she’s going to _die_ there?!”

“Marley… I think that’s where they took your dad, too…” The words barely made it out of Blaine’s mouth, the weight of everything crushing him with such violence he thinks he might never breathe again.

They stayed there for what felt like an eternity, Marley collapsing into thick tears and heaving sobs, and Blaine’s arms tight around her. It was all he could do to keep himself from trembling and collapsing into oblivion.

What if they took Marley and Milly next? How long did they have before taking Kitty from him wasn’t enough anymore?

As the castle seemed to wake up around them, and noises started pulling them back to their reality, Blaine held her face in his hands and made her promise never to talk about this again to anyone, not even her mother. He made her promise she’d be careful and keep herself out of anyone’s radar. Then he told her to go back home and not come back to see him, not until he did. And if he didn’t, to forget all about him, too.

Finally, as they separated with the tightest hug they’d ever shared, Blaine made sure that his father’s office looked exactly as it had before they’d come in, and sprinted all the way to his brother’s bedroom.

He burst through the door and didn’t waste a single breath before he screamed, “Death camps?!” he glared at Cooper as he jolted awake in his bed, “They built death camps?!”

“What’re you talking about?” Cooper yawned.

“You know what I’m talking about! You knew about the camps and you never told me anything? You let them do that?! They’re not just pushing people out of the country, they’re not just arresting people! They’re mass murdering people!”

“Blaine!” Cooper gasped, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face, “Blaine, calm down! You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making perfect sense.”

“You’re talking about the camps?” he frowned as he threw his covers away and stood, “Blaine, they’re for dangerous people. It’s a good thing. We’re getting them to be a productive part of society, as well as ensuring they don’t harm it anymore.”

“It’s disgusting!”

“Blaine – stop being such a child. Don’t worry they’re not gonna put you in there,” Cooper said dismissively, looking around for his robe and pulling it on.

“What about Kitty? Did they put her in there?”

Cooper faltered in his movements, as he tied the knot on his robe, but shrugged just as easily, “She wasn’t a good influence on you. And her parents were… difficult.”

“So you had them shipped off to a camp?”

“ _I_ didn’t have them shipped off anywhere. If you want, you can go ask dad about it, but if you ask me, he did the right thing.”

“Of course he did! Of course! Because you never waste an opportunity to tell them about her and about her so called bad influences. Cooper, she never influenced me into anything! I hate our parents all on my own, thank you very much!”

“You’re exhausting, Blaine! You’re a brat!” Cooper bit back, “Regardless of anything, she’s gone and that’s that.”

Blaine was practically growling, the hairs on his neck standing and his hands curling into tight fists, “You fix this; you fix this _now_.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Blaine. They got what they deserved.”

“What about me? I’m against father, too. Am I going to get what I deserve?”

“Don’t be infantile, Blaine. I’m sure if you told father he would actually accept it. He might even let you keep Cat if you agreed to help him with the kingdom.”

Blaine felt like retching at the mere suggestion of it. Instead he spits at his brother’s feet, “I would rather _die_.”

Cooper was livid. His arm pulled back, but before he could swing it forward into Blaine’s face, the whole room erupts into flames. With a snarl, Blaine stepped forward, the flames licking his own ankles gently and cool instead of flaming hot, “Fix. This.”

“I… I… Blaine… what are you even doing?!!”

The flames grew bigger, hotter, “Promise you’ll fix it.”

“I-I’ll-I’ll fix it!” Cooper whimpered, and Blaine stepped back with a deep breath.

“Tomorrow morning. You have until tomorrow morning for Kitty and her family to be safe and sound back in her house.” He growled, “If she’s not, you’ll see how real this fire can be.”

He went back to his room and made sure he had everything he could ever need in his bag. He certainly didn’t have a good feeling about that day, but he also needed to stick it out, until the next morning. If Kitty wasn’t back then, he would disappear. He would slip through the castle and never come back. And if Kitty was back… then maybe he could wait until he had a good plan.

He skipped lunch and went to the private library, where he gathered all the books he could possibly want or need to read and consult, and made sure they fit in his bag. Afterwards, he followed the path Isabelle had taught him into her old chambers as court witch and stuffed the rest of his bag with her old powders and other things (if he also took her old photographs and other memorabilia it was only because sometimes he’d need to remind himself that things weren’t always this bad). Then, he made his way down to the kitchen for dinner. While he knew that skipping dinner with his parents was one of the easiest ways to make them suspicious of something, he figured, after the fight with Cooper and his demands, there wouldn’t be any need for “suspicions” at all.

Finally, he sat on his bed, quietly watching as his curtains burst into flames and then went back to normal, and burst into flames and then back to normal. The anger driving him was stronger than any other feeling, and that was the only reason he’d managed to sit still and wait, instead of just tearing the entire castle apart in search for answers and solutions.

More than once, as he watched his curtains go up in flame, he considered what would happen if he just took matters into his own hands. What would happen if he set fire to his parents’ bedroom, instead of his brother’s, if he let the fire run its course, instead of making it go away. He could never, of course. The thought alone made him sick to his stomach, but still, he couldn’t help wondering.

Somewhere along the night he fell asleep – he didn’t mean to, he certainly didn’t think it was wise to do so, but, somehow, the events of the day caught up to him and he blacked out fully dressed on his bed.

When he woke up he was drenched in sweat and he knew. He just knew that Cooper had told his father everything about Cat and Blaine’s magic. He knew and he could feel them coming for him. He was not sure what they wanted – if they wanted to kill Cat, if they wanted to kill him, or if they wanted to keep him like they did Isabelle. But he knew he needed to go.

Mind still muddled with sleep, panic set in and he couldn’t make himself move.

He could hear the doors leading to his bedroom bursting open, but he couldn’t make himself move – it was too late. He could hear the voices, getting closer and closer, and he considered trying to get out through the window – or he would if he could move. He screwed his eyes shut and thought how stupid he was, getting caught like this. How disappointed Isabelle would be in him if she knew how he’d let his guard down – how he hadn’t kept his promise.

How he’d rather die than let them get to him.

How he’d never be able to live with himself if this was his last moment of freedom – sitting on a bed, crying and heaving in panic.

He wanted to go away, to disappear and never come back. He wanted to be anywhere else. Far, far away from his father. He wanted to be gone.

When he opened his eyes, he was.

With a gasp, he realized he was outside, the cold wind of an autumn night slapping his face mercilessly, but wonderfully. He looked all around him and found that the castle was barely a dot of lights in the far distance. It didn’t make sense because it’s impossible to open portals indoors, and even if it was, the castle was protected and only Isabelle could control the magic happening inside it – sure, she’d given Blaine plenty of freedom his whole life but most of the time he was playing with uncomplicated, small magic that barely touched her protections. Not this kind of thing. This was big and he was sure he shouldn’t have been able to do it.

Maybe she had done it, or maybe Blaine’s sheer panic had been enough to overthrow her protections, or maybe she had let them down, knowing he might need an opening, despite the fact that his father would know and punish her in the worst way possible. Either way, Blaine had no idea how he managed to get out of that castle, but looking at it then, a flicker of lights in the distance, he didn’t need to know.

“Cat?” he called. She meowed, from a few feet in the opposite direction of the castle. With one last glance backwards, he followed her.

 


	11. Door Slam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of suicidal behavior

The night is eerily silent, and Kurt’s entire body is fizzing with adrenaline as he finally puts down his own can of blue paint, takes out the brush and dips it inside. He’s still having a hard time believing they listened and agreed with him, and it feels surreal to be up here in the village, so shortly after the attack, in the dead of the night covering their walls in blue eyes. He frowns as he paints the first one. Wrinkling his nose, he considers that it looks like some kind of Egyptian symbol – but then again, it’s not like they’d recognize it, is it?

They’d hardly waited before doing this on the very night Kurt suggested it. It’s not like they have anything to lose, and if there’s an all-time low on the number of guards in town, it’s the day after a sweep.

They’re working in pairs and Kurt can appreciate how they’re observant enough not to partner him up with Blaine, despite how obvious that choice would have been two days ago. And yet, Quinn’s quiet presence next to him isn’t as soothing as he’d thought. He’s so confused by the whole thing, as he paints, that he barely notices when she suddenly walks away. He turns to remind her they’re not supposed to do that, when he finds Blaine taking her place and finishing the eye she’d been painting.

“Oh.” Kurt clenches his jaw and turns back towards the wall. He ignores the way his hands are itching to touch Blaine and his heart is eager to forget everything and just hug him already.

“I was three years old when Cat found me,” Blaine starts, his voice calm and quiet. “I was playing in the snow – I wasn’t even supposed to be there, but my brother would sometimes get us away from the nannies and take me outside…”

This is clearly a very private conversation, one not many people are privy to. He moves his brush against the wall as he speaks, moving further and further down the street while Kurt merely watches him, gaping slightly and trying to reboot his brain into paying attention. Blaine isn’t sparing many details as he goes through the years of his life and its events – Cat, Cooper, Isabelle, finding out the kind of man his father was, growing up with very little friends and still losing those, his fights with his brother and the way he so clearly grew to resent Blaine for his gift.

Kurt may have wanted to know it, but as Blaine goes on and on, his chest feels tighter and tighter and tighter, and he realizes that it’s guilt stirring up inside of him. This isn’t some stupid detail about himself that Blaine had refused to mention out of embarrassment, or because he didn’t trust Kurt – _god forbid anything be about someone else other than me_ … Kurt thinks acidly.

And now Blaine’s telling him everything because he thinks he has no other choice. Because he thinks he has something to prove to Kurt.

“And I just knew – I knew he’d told them. I had to leave, just like that.” He snaps his fingers as illustration, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anyone…

“The next day the papers were filled with the news of my death. I was reportedly killed by an enchanter. It was the perfect excuse for them to intensify the war on enchanters. They put out a warning with pictures of Cat, which I’m pretty sure Cooper took while I was still living in the castle, of course, telling people and guards to look out for a small maroon cat, because it was my killer’s totem – Guards are instructed to capture any cat like that that they find, and I guess Cat escaped before they could the other day, but still, they plastered the place with pictures, the ones from three years ago. I don’t know if whoever saw her knew better than to assume she was just a regular cat, or if they just saw it and thought it would be better to report it to their superiors, as it’s supposed to happen, and they just decided to attack this place as a shot in the dark… Anyway, I was stupid, either way. I kind of thought she’d be safe around these parts, where guards aren’t particularly focused on catching that single wizard who supposedly killed me, you know? But I guess not. All it takes is one second of bad luck.” Blaine sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, using my _death_ as the catalyst for it, two months later they were locking up every single registered enchanter they could find and moving them to camps. When I finally managed to find the Resistance, it took a lot for them to trust me. Wes, who recruited me, was the only person who truly trusted me for months.”

Blaine is still diligently painting blue eyes on the wall, some small, some bigger, a flare here and there, but it’s clearly something to keep him from looking at Kurt.

“Being part of the resistance, even when most people didn’t trust me, was the first time in my life I felt like I was doing something worthwhile. I could breathe… I could… I don’t know… But even then it took me a long time before I felt close to okay… Most of the time I just… I didn’t know how to deal with anyone around me, look them in the eye knowing that they _thought_ they knew anything about me. That they thought I was just a spoiled little brat who didn’t get his way so he decided he’d turn on his daddy. How some of them would make bets on how long it would be before I ran back home with my tail between my legs. It just… it took me a lot to shut them up, and to find people willing to stand up for me.” He sighs, his voice having broken a few times. “Santana showed up and, for some reason I don’t quite know yet, she believed me, and then bullied everyone else into trusting me too. We both started out in the Dalton cell, but a couple of close calls made it vital that I move somewhere farther, and I was still determined to find Kitty, so when I heard they were opening a cell exclusively to deal with the camps, I made it my mission to come here, and help out with that.”

Kurt still has no idea what to say to that, and he’s never felt so cold even as he wraps his coat tighter and tighter around himself. A strange sort of silence settles until Blaine speaks again, a sad little chuckle punctuating the awkwardness.

“Anyway… that’s my story… I think.” He shrugs. “But, huh, let me just… What else should I tell you?” He frowns and purses his lips in concentration. “Oh! Right!” he startles, remembering something, “So, I had a crush on Sam for a while there, but he likes girls, so… we became best friends instead,” Blaine chuckles softly. “After that, Rachel joined us, and when she and Finn were sorting things out, we may have had a little _thing_ , but… yeah, that was a lapse in judgment – she was just kind and made me feel like… I don’t know, like I didn’t have to apologize for anything – but I never liked her _that_ way, I was just confused.” He laughs, “But yeah, anyway… hm, I know it’s embarrassingly obvious, but if we’re in the spirit of honesty I might as well just get it out in the _wide_ open,” he takes a deep breath and steels himself for something, cheeks red and hand finally fumbling around the paintbrush. For the first time since he started talking, Blaine looks at Kurt. “You’ve been here for a couple of months now, and I’d say I’ve been into you since, like… day one, and it’s really not just a harmless crush anymore… it’s something that I… I’ve never felt like this for anyone before, so you’ll have to forgive me if I make some mistakes, because I just have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t even know if I should be doing _anything_. You’re going to leave, so…”

“Blaine…” Kurt breathes.

“So that’s... that’s all. That’s me. Everything worth telling.” He shrugs, small and shy. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I do. I promise I do. But this wasn’t about you…” he says, finally dropping his brush into the can and crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulders hunched as he looks away, “The thing is… My father had your parents killed, Kurt. My father would have _you_ killed if he got the chance. He’s responsible for hundreds of deaths every year. He’s destroying lives… And I just… I want to feel like _I’m_ enough, you know? Like maybe I’m enough to be more than just… someone related to him… I want to feel like I’m just… _me._ Just Blaine. But there’s so much…”

“Blaine…!”

“It’s barely been a year since I’ve managed to stop crying myself to sleep every night – I still do it sometimes, actually… I just… I can’t walk down the street without feeling like I owe every single person something, some kind of… I don’t know – an apology at the very least.”

“You don’t owe anything to anyone.” Kurt steps closer, “Not even to me.”

“Yeah…” Blaine breathes, chuckling sadly, “I know that… rationally. I just… can’t stop feeling the opposite. I – there were so many things I could’ve done to stop him, from inside the castle, and instead I ran away.”

“You didn’t just _run away_ …” Kurt rolls his eyes fondly, “You protected yourself. Anyone would’ve done that. And if you hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have found the Resistance. How could you have helped them, then?”

“I… sometimes I just… I don’t know,” Blaine shrugs, “I could’ve ended this such a long time ago… I could’ve… I knew where he _slept_ , you know?”

“Blaine!” Kurt’s heart stops for a moment with the weight of such an implication, “He’s your father! And you were a kid – you _still_ are. I don’t think anyone would blame you for not killing your own father.”

Blaine smiles feebly and shrugs, “I don’t know… It’s kind of what we’re trying to do now, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily, no, and I don’t think people expect _you_ to do it, anyway. Blaine, come on, as horrible as he might be I think it’s understandable that you didn’t kill your father in his sleep when you were fifteen.” Kurt smiles gently, before adding in a lighter, easier tone, “Although, it would also be understandable if you had.”

Blaine does chuckle, thankfully, not bitter or strained, just subdued – Kurt can live with that, so he smiles and lets his body rest against the wall, tension evaporating into thin air.

“ _Anyway_ …” Blaine rolls his eyes and turns fully towards Kurt, “I’m sorry I kept it a secret from you. I promise there are no more secrets between us – not from me, anyway. Can we at least go back to being friends, now?” His smile is easy and relaxed as he offers a hand to shake.

“I… of course!” Kurt gasps, throwing his arms around Blaine and completely ignoring his hand. Blaine’s breathy laugh in his ear is heaven, compared to the steely silence of the last day, “I’m sorry I snapped. I had no right to.”

“It’s fine.” Blaine nods against his shoulder but doesn’t pull away. Kurt can feel his own heartbeat slowing, his breath easing and lets his eyes close and his lips stretch into a peaceful smile.

They hold each other close for a long time, until the approaching voices of Rachel and Finn startle them back to reality.

They spring apart and busy themselves straightening their clothes and looking around. Kurt feels his cheeks burning, and lets the realization that Blaine is definitely, openly gay and interested in him hit him. It’s a delicious impact as his chest swells with something like hope. It feels like the air in his lungs is lighter somehow, maybe tinted pink, or sparkling with pretty bubbles. It feels like the tips of his fingers are alight, and the midwinter night wind smells like daisies.

The moment might be tinted by the rest of Blaine’s confession, but that one wonderful part is enough to make Kurt press his lips together to keep from laughing. Instead, he scratches the back of his neck, looks back to Blaine and says, “We should probably get back to work.”

“Probably.” Blaine nods, smiling sheepishly and scratching the bridge of his nose adorably, just as Finn and Rachel turn the corner.

“Everything alright?” Finn calls.

“Yeah. So far, so good.” Blaine calls back.

“Ok, we’re heading west. Will will come get you for the town square once he and Emma are done over at Rose Street, Blaine.”

“Sure thing.” Blaine nods, turning back towards his materials and picking his brush up, as Rachel and Finn hurry away.

Kurt watches Blaine for another moment before he can pull himself together and get his own things, setting to work on his side of the street, significantly less blue than Blaine’s. They work in silence for a long time, sometimes exchanging glances and giggling as they look away, until approaching footsteps call their attention once more. They watch in anticipation as finally Will emerges, and the both of them sag visibly with relief.

Blaine wordlessly nods towards Will before he turns to Kurt, eyes flicking towards the eye he’d been painting, gigantic and right in the middle of a peeling, grey wall. With a smirk, Blaine says, “You missed a spot,” and proceeds to lean over Kurt’s shoulder, swiping his own brush over the still grey spot amidst the blue iris.

As he leaves, Kurt is left still breathing in the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon that he’s come to recognize as Blaine’s. He closes his eyes for a moment, ignoring as Puck takes Blaine’s place with a casual “’sup.”

The night is otherwise uneventful for Kurt. Quinn and Santana had a run in with guards that they had easily, quickly and expertly gotten rid of, going so far as chaining their unconscious bodies to the gallows on the main square. Blaine and Will had apparently made equally easy work of the guards that had been stationed there, anyway.

Sam, Mike and Tina, surprisingly, received warm cups of tea from one of the houses they had been silently painting on, while Rachel had been busy keeping a handful of curious children silent.

As the group finally makes their way across the front door to the house, they’re exhausted but mostly happy, knowing that the next day would mean renewed hope across the land. Most of them make their way to their bedrooms without much fuss, but the mood is drastically different than from the night before.

Kurt has his hand on his own doorknob when a soft hand travels across the back of his shoulders and a gentle voice says, “Sleep well”. He turns to find Blaine, but doesn’t have any time to say anything back before Blaine has lent in and pressed a quick kiss to Kurt’s cheek, just as quickly turning away and walking quietly to his bedroom.

“Nausea,” a voice drawls, and Kurt spins around, back colliding against the door, finding Santana with her arms crossed over her chest walking briskly behind Blaine.

Kurt opens his mouth to retort, but the memory of her anger not too long ago holds him back. After what she’s been through in the last couple of days, he can probably deal with a few jabs. He watches her leave, until she’s disappeared into her room, the giddiness of Blaine’s sweet, chaste kiss now considerably dampened, and he finally slips into his own. He discards his clothes slowly, considering a shower before bed, but his muscles and brain alike are screaming for a deep sort of sleep he hasn’t managed in days.

As soon as he’s down to his underwear he crawls into bed, vowing to change the sheets the next morning, and hugs his pillow tight. A small cracking noise forces his eyes back open and he grins as he sees Cat squeezing through the ajar door, and gently padding into the bedroom. She gracefully climbs onto the bed and curls up at Kurt’s feet, and Kurt finally understands what the fuss was all about at Christmas.

He’d read it, but somehow he hadn’t registered that part of the information. Cat isn’t just any cat that happens to be Blaine’s and give him magic powers. Cat is Blaine’s totem, with a very close and very specific relation and connection to him. She is a mirror to his soul and emotions. Cat is very trusting of people because _Blaine_ is also very trusting. Cat likes Kurt, because Blaine likes Kurt.

And Cat sleeps next to Kurt, because… _well…_

-x-

Lips slide against lips. Eager hands explore sweaty, slick skin. Golden against ivory – tan against pale. Moans, groans, long sighs and choked off breaths. Backs arch and press into a forgiving mattress and rumpled sheets, legs entwine and arms hold tight. Fingers dig deep into thick, dark curls, while a tongue tastes salty beads of moisture off a jawline. “I want you so much,” a hushed voice breathes, while the other replies, “I’ve been looking for you forever…”

Every inch of their bodies is on fire. Pleasure is running through their veins, unrestrained and unlimited, but not alone – feelings, so many feelings, of fondness, of care, of tenderness… of something else entirely different, entirely bigger and much scarier. It feels strange, foreign and new, but so, so good: every part of it, but especially that feeling without a name. Or a name that couldn’t yet be spelled out for lack of definition. Seeing it in the blurry reflection of a fogged up mirror.

A pair of lips detaches from flushed, pink skin – there will be a mark for days.

“Kurt…” Blaine says. His eyes are practically golden, though there is no light around them. Kurt can still see every detail, each mesmerizing a hypnotizing. “Kurt,… we have to stop.”

“What?” he gasps, pushing himself onto his elbows.

“You have to go,” Blaine says gently.

Kurt’s stomach drops – drops down to the pits of hell. “But don’t you want me?” Kurt frowns, tears pooling in his eyes as he wraps the thick coat tighter around himself.

Blaine tilts his head and smiles, sad, sarcastic, fond, teasing, knowing altogether, “Why would that matter?”

“It matters,” Kurt insists, the chill of freezing snow making his feet ache and his body tremble.

“But you have to go home, either way.” Blaine shrugs, expressionless as he opens the plain wooden door on their right.

“I…” Kurt freezes as he sees the room behind the door. His old bed, bigger than the one on his left, his old shelves much fuller than the single one above the bare desk, his old wardrobe so incredibly enticing with all of its colorful and stylish contents, instead of the practically empty, barren one.

“Go on,” Blaine says calmly. A chill threatens to defeat Kurt entirely and bring him to his knees.

“I… Blaine…?” Kurt breathes carefully, “ _Please_. Don’t you want me? Say that you want me!”

Blaine shrugs, “I told you, that doesn’t matter,” he says before he turns around and goes towards his own bedroom off in the distance, Cat trailing calmly after him.

Kurt doesn’t move for a while. He watches as Blaine walks away until he's a small dot in the distance, and only then, terribly alone, can he finally turn back to his old bedroom. He steps forwards, the familiar smell of his collection of Vogue magazines, of car oil that somehow always got there even when Kurt made it his mission in life to eradicate it from every clothing item or object that entered his room, of his old detergent – the smell of his old bedroom already so enticing. He crosses the threshold.

Too many things happen at once. His bedroom smells of stale, rotting air, and everything’s dissolving into dust and ashes. Without warning, a chilly waft brings over the feeble scent of vanilla and cinnamon and the sound of a sob makes him look back. He catches a glimpse of a broken Blaine, sobbing naked and shivering on the empty, vast snow when the door slams in his face, cutting him off forever.

-x-

Kurt wakes up with a start. He takes in the slightly stained beige walls completely bare, the old rackety desk and the frail accompanying chair, the ajar door of the wardrobe revealing a couple of white shirts and some folded pants. He breathes in the scent of dusty air and firewood drifting in from the living room. He listens to Cat’s gentle breaths, and watches the rise and fall of her back.

He doesn’t have the energy to stress or panic over the dream – nightmare, actually.

“No need for Freud with that one…” Kurt mutters, sitting up and rubbing a hand over his face. The light filtering through announces the breaking dawn, which means he’s barely slept more than two or three hours. “Great!” he groans, throwing himself back onto bed, head burying against the pillow.

Cat stirs and meows, before opening her eyes and raising her head. She nudges the lump of Kurt’s feet through the covers before she curls back into sleep, her message clear – stop moving, I’m trying to sleep here. He gives her a defying glare, but keeps still nonetheless.

“Figures…” he sighs, and Cat raises her head again, eyeing him carefully, “Just my luck – find a guy who I like and who likes me back, and I can’t have him.”

Cat tilts her head a little – her eyes seem unimpressed.

“What? I can’t!” he shrugs, “Can I?”

She’s apparently decided that the conversation has ended, as she tucks her head back into her body without another glance.

“You’re useless,” Kurt shoots. She doesn’t so much as move.

For a long time, he tries to go back to sleep, but the light outside only gets stronger and stronger, and he can’t make his brain shut up. It’s not like he wants to have another nightmare, anyway. It’s probably somewhere around ten o’clock when he finally gives up and goes for a shower. The warmth of the water and the fresh smells of body and hair lotions soothe him considerably, but his chest is still a little too tight by the time he makes his way to the kitchen and makes himself some tea.

With a steaming mug he curls up on the couch and drinks it slowly. The house is still quiet and he knows he’s probably the only one up – he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. He could use a distraction from his thoughts, but he’s also not sure he could keep himself from spilling out embarrassing questions like “Would you be with someone if you knew it was doomed to end whether you wanted or not?”

Somewhere in the house a door opens, and before Kurt can make a decision about leaving or staying, Finn and Rachel are spilling out into the living room. They’re completely focused on each other though, and don’t notice him at all. Rachel has Finn’s hand in both of hers and she’s laughing, while he grins and tells her, “Shh, you’re gonna wake the whole house.”

“You’re such an idiot.” Rachel swats him over the shoulder, as they turn into the kitchen, “ _You_ woke me up!”

Kurt can hear them move around the space, giggling and speaking in hushed voices, and he thinks of the first time he saw each of them. Finn as pale as death with blood pouring out of his leg, and Rachel completely hysterical over her fear of losing him. He wonders if there’s a scar to remind them of how close their love came to being over, and, if there is, how many times do they stop to look at it?

He doesn’t understand how someone can voluntarily give their heart up for so much pain. When his parents got married, they did so under the understanding that they would spend the rest of their lives together, and that that would be a long, long time. Nowhere was his dad warned her time would be so much shorter than his. Kurt had often wondered if he would have changed anything, had he known – if Burt would have still gotten married to Elizabeth, had he known she would die only eight years later and leave him along with a challenging kid. When Kurt was fourteen, he’d asked and Burt had quickly said “yes” with the kind of certainty Kurt only had when it came to choosing bowties. Kurt had felt warmer at the thought, but a little confused, and Burt had told him he would get it one day.

Since then, Kurt had asked himself the same question several times, but life had treated him with spectacular cruelty so far and he had to learn all about protecting his heart. Even if, having witnessed the way his parents loved each other, and having been all too caught up with Disney and Broadway musicals, made it farfetched for Kurt to let go of his hopeless romanticism, he at least taught himself to dream of a love that would be right, and easy, and that he’d know how to navigate at once. He taught himself to dream of something perfect with all of the butterflies and none of the drama.

And then had taught himself never to settle for anything in his life – it was the only way he could maintain any hint of dignity in all the hell he’d been put through high school – and had always applied that same idea to his love life. Dream high and accept nothing else. He’d never dreamed of a love that came with a catch - that came with an expiration date - so why would he ever accept it?

If in high school, he hadn’t gone for the closeted classmate (Kurt wasn’t anyone’s dirty little secret), or for the boy who wanted his body but not his heart (Kurt wanted a relationship based on feelings, not lust), or even the boy that did like him but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to like back – why did his body and soul itch for Blaine? Blaine and their numbered days.

He’d brought himself up to believe that love shouldn’t come with pain. He’d promised himself he would never settle for anything less than perfect. He understands, of course, the unpredictability of life (at this point, he probably understands it better than anyone, actually), but that doesn’t mean he can bring himself to accept that love should come with entirely predictable and inevitable pain.

And yet, as he listens to Rachel and Finn’s hushed voices and giggles, he wonders if that’s what it means to be a coward.

In the past it’d been so easy to talk himself out of boys. He’d become infatuated and as soon as he realized it was hopeless he would pick something, anything, and direct all his anger and disdain on that small detail until it grew and grew, and spread everywhere, and Kurt couldn’t possibly do anything other than sneer at the boy and think “how did I ever want this loser?”

But how would he even begin to do that with Blaine? Not for lack of things to choose from, but for lack of… determination. He simply doesn’t want to stop his feelings for Blaine.

Quite hopeless – all of it.

Before either Rachel or Finn can notice Kurt, he heads off towards his bedroom to get ready for a long, lone run. Running and exhausting himself works wonders to calm the growing stress of not knowing what to do or say the moment he’d see Blaine again.

Of course, the agreed upon was the reestablishment of their friendship, but even that had always had special undertones Kurt had tried very hard to ignore and now couldn’t. It feels like there’s, somehow, a decision to be made. Move impossibly forward or move impossibly backwards.

Worn out from the run, however, he’s high on endorphins and feels enough like play-dough that he can walk by Blaine, as the other boy is having breakfast, and smile without it having to mean anything more while he announces he is famished from skipping breakfast. Blaine smiles back and tosses him an apple, but also urges him to go take a shower. Kurt sticks his tongue out as he takes himself and his apple out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.

By the time he returns, a little more grounded and a little less capable of facing Blaine, he’s glad to see the kitchen is empty, except for Quinn, who’s slowly making her way through a toast. He gives her a smile while he goes to make one for himself.

“Hey,” she says, “Puck’s out to the world, so I was thinking maybe instead of your usual hand to hand combat training, you could come with me and we could start seeing about shooting targets?”

“Oh?!” Kurt gasps – the opportunity to spend a few hours isolated from everyone else, with the most no-bullshit person in the house, practicing something that requires precision and focus, incredibly enticing. “I’d love that.”

She smiles, “Pack some snacks so we can stay out there for a while, and don’t forget a warm coat. This may be hard but it also implies standing still a lot.”

He nods, wondering if maybe she reads minds and knows what’s going on in his head, before he starts pulling food out of the cabinet for both of them.

The shooting practice area is definitely the furthest from the house, for obvious reasons, and it feels very liberating to see nothing but white fields and white trees around them. Quinn teaches him the basic, beginner’s essentials, and Kurt is surprised to find he’s a natural. He can’t actually hit every single target, and especially not the moving target Quinn jokingly dares him to, but for a first timer, even Quinn is impressed.

“Of course, this is nothing like the actual situation you’re going to be shooting in, but you need to perfect the technique as much as possible, so that shaking hands and rushed aiming don’t really factor in as much as they normally would.”

“Yeah…” Kurt breathes, thinking of the guard he’d shot at and completely missed at the camp.

“It just needs to be second nature to you, you know?”

“It needs to feel like an extension of my hand…” Kurt offers.

“Exactly…” she gives him a smile, “Sam’s going to tell you the same thing about swords, by the way.”

“You mean, like Puck said about the impact of my punch – _look, Kurt, it has to feel like the strength and the determination of your movement will go past your hand, like an extension of it…_ You guys need to learn about originality.” Kurt laughs.

Quinn shakes her head, “Noah has a knack for coming up with the most ridiculous explanations ever…” she shrugs, “But sometimes they make a little sense, you know?”

“At least to you, I’d hope,” he adds, a little scared that he’d overstepped their tentative friendship.

She considers him for a moment before cracking a smile, “He always makes sense to me – even when it’s frustrating.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“It’s Noah Puckerman…” she scoffs, and Kurt tries to laugh.

Instead, he can’t help asking, “What about scared? Do you ever get scared?”

“For him?” she frowns, “Or for us as a couple?”

“Both… I guess.”

“We’re not a perfect couple, not by a long shot, but we love each other, and… I do think we’re soul mates. So… I guess aside from the whole cheating on Finn debacle, I’ve never once doubted my decision to be with him. So. For us as a couple? No, I don’t think so… never. I always know we’re right for each other. For him? All the time.”

“That’s, huh, that’s nice,” Kurt manages, but everything he’d managed to push away during these hours with Quinn is back, full force.

“Kurt…?” she frowns, edging a careful hand towards his shoulder, “Kurt, what’s going on between you and Blaine?”

He shakes his head and laughs bitterly, “I don’t know…”

She eyes him for a long time as he blinks back frustrated tears, before she finally says, “It’s okay to not know what you want, Kurt.” She holds his chin and makes him look at her, “But it’s not okay to jerk around with people’s feelings. Take it from someone who’s been there.”

“I don’t know what to do…”

“Maybe tell him that? He might just be as confused as you… he might not. He might even have all the right things to say.” She walks away to gather everything up, “Do you want to keep going? I’m going to head back.”

“I’ll… stay here, I think.”

“Okay.” She nods, without letting a stitch of judgment through her voice.

Alone, Kurt knows she’s probably right, but he has to admit to himself at least that it’s still a conversation he’s not ready to have. How could he ever look Blaine in the eye and tell him he doesn’t know if they should act on their feelings? No! The very moment he’d try that, he would probably do something completely insane like kiss him.

Instead, he stays, practicing his shooting until it’s almost dark, and only then, when he’s sure there won’t be many chances to run into Blaine alone, he makes his way back.

Unlike anything he’s ever seen, everybody is in the living room talking excitedly. As soon as Kurt has closed the front door behind him, there’s an explosion of cheers. Feeling a little like a cornered animal, Kurt raises his hands and everybody laughs. Without warning, Puck grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him, “Long live the king!”

“What?” Kurt gasps, looking around him at the happy faces, he can’t help grinning as well, “What’s happening?”

“We just got a message from Sue…” Tina beams, “The blue eyes are spreading _everywhere_ … In less than a day – people are excited!”

“Everybody’s high on hope!” Puck laughs.

“Oh… okay,” he breathes, looking around himself and paying a little more attention. Santana still looks upset, and she’s sitting by the table picking on a piece of bread. Will doesn’t look as eager as most of the others, Quinn seems to be a little lost in thought, leaning against the wall, and Blaine’s quietly sitting on the couch alternating between returning smiles and chewing on his lip. “That’s good, right?”

“The killjoys over there are worried about riots and backlash,” Puck rolls his eyes, “But I think it’s about time everybody starts standing up. I mean, fuck, people can make decisions for themselves – if they want to riot, they got a right to.”

“They won’t necessarily go into a riot, anyway _,_ ” Tina interrupts softly.

“I still think we should spread the word to avoid it,” Mike points out, “Tell them to hold their breath for just a little while longer. We could use them, but on our timing.”

“We’ll talk strategy tomorrow!” Sam groans, “Right now let’s enjoy the good thing!”

“You’re right, Sam.” Emma smiles, “We need to enjoy the small victories, and giving people hope is one step in the right direction.”

That night, when Kurt goes to sleep, it’s late and he is tired, having artfully avoided Blaine’s company or even attention as he went to bed while the other boy was deep in conversation with Mike. Hoping that tonight he’ll be able to get some proper sleep, Kurt does his bed time routine carefully and calmly.

-x-

Kurt wakes up in a start again well before dawn. With a groan, he pushes his face against the pillow and forces his eyes shut. He manages to fall back asleep, but it’s fitful and by the time he does give up on it, he feels less rested than before. Like the previous day, he’s out of the house and running through the trails in the woods before anyone else is up. He feels a little guilty for abandoning Rachel, but he doesn’t want to have to deal with her reading his mind and refusing to shut up about it. Once he’s back, he gladly accepts Puck’s invitation to practice, and after a remarkably late lunch, he’s glad to hear it’s time for a strategy meeting.

When he gets to the meeting room, he notices that the seat next to Blaine is empty, and he can’t bring himself to bypass it and sit somewhere else, so he slides carefully into it and makes the effort of looking at Blaine without blushing or crying.

“Hey there, stranger,” Blaine whispers at once. He’s smiling but his voice is a little hesitant. How foolish of him to think Blaine wouldn’t notice Kurt avoiding him.

“Hey…” Kurt breathes back, hoping his smile conveys his apology.

Looking around them and checking that they’re still not ready to start the meeting, Blaine frowns and leans in closer, “Is everything okay?”

“I…” Of course, everything is _not_ okay.

“Listen, I… I can’t exactly just take back what I said the other night, about, you know, having feelings for you, but-”

“I don’t want you to,” Kurt interrupts before he can stop himself.

“You don’t?” Blaine gasps, “But you’ve been… you’ve been distant, ever since, I just I thought-”

“Alright, guys, let’s start this thing!” Will calls around the table, and Blaine immediately falls silent, pressing his lips together and breathing deep through his nose. “We need to think about the implications of last night, and what kind of effects that might have on people… But, most importantly, we need to figure out, how we can use that to our advantage.”

Kurt can barely pay attention to anything that’s being said because Blaine is not paying attention. He’s just frowning as he stares blindly at his own hands, folded carefully on the table. Does Blaine regret admitting his feelings to Kurt? Is the lack of response from Kurt hurting him? Well, of course it is. Kurt could very much imagine how he would feel if he’d exposed himself in that way to Blaine and then not heard a word in reply for two straight days. Yet he can’t bring himself to do more besides nudge Blaine’s foot with his own and crack a small smile when Blaine looks up. He receives a questioning glance in return, but when the answer doesn’t come, Blaine looks away and shakes his head, turning his attention fully to Will.

“Given the circumstances, I think it would be unwise to wait much longer before we go for it. For Anderson, I mean.” Will is saying, “If people are truly getting worked up about it, it would be risky to test their impatience… We need them on our side, under our advisement. We can’t afford to fight a two-front battle.”

“Can we afford to fight a battle at all?” Kurt can’t help asking, “I know there are other cells, but if they’re all as populated as this one, you’d need what…? At least fifty cells to get enough people for one kind of small battle, wouldn’t you?”

“No, of course we can’t fight a battle… Anything we do needs to be covert, quick and efficient. It was just a figure a speech.” Will shakes his head.

“Not necessarily,” Quinn says, “If we mobilize the people, we can use them. Mike was right, we could use a well-timed, well-placed riot.”

Will considers her words before twisting his nose, “That would endanger a lot of people.”

“It would be their choice,” she counters, “just like it’s ours to be here.”

“We wouldn’t necessarily need a riot…” Blaine interrupts, “We would need the promise of one. If there’s one thing Anderson values is appearance. If he knew there were plans for a riot, he would never, ever let it happen. He would do whatever it took to make sure it didn’t happen in the first place, including deploying most of his troops wherever they need to be.”

“We could play a diversion tactic!” Kurt gasps, catching onto Blaine’s train of though, “We create the pretense of a situation big enough that he’ll have to respond, so we make sure that the capital is the least guarded it’ll ever be.”

“And all the while, he will be trying to act like nothing is happening – he will be having functions and dinners – the kind of situation that gives us a chance to strike out as many big names, including his, if possible, with as little people as possible as well.”

“Oh my god!” Kurt gasps, and he never once thought that having had to endure a Tarantino movie for the sake and amusement of his dad would play out later in life, “Oh my god… Yes! That’s it! We need to create a function, something, that he will perceive as his idea, or at least of someone close to him, so that we can pull all the strings, and get our own people in there with legitimate reasons… I mean,-”

Blaine shoots him a small, fond smile before turning back to Will, “How long are we talking about here? How much time before it goes down?”

“I… I would say, two months… tops?”

“Okay, that’s close to Cooper’s birthday. You all know they throw a big, very official party. Every year it gets bigger. They’ll probably start to pull it together at the end of next month. We can get some of our people hired as staff, right?”

“Maybe…” Will nods, “They’ve had the same staff in the castle since before you left, but maybe we could-”

“No, no, they _will_ need the extra hands.”

“Okay…” Will looks barely convinced, but around the table everyone is clearly fizzing with excitement.

“So we need to divide into two areas of work,” Artie calls out from the other end of the table, “Half of us should start working on the function, the other on the phantom riot.”

“Actually, we shouldn’t forget the Branc camp.” Tina points out.

“And maybe we can retry to get military support from Carmen?” Quinn offers, “Wouldn’t it be ideal if we got her to threaten war on Anderson? We can leak her invasion date and site to be somewhere, say the riot will happen somewhere else and make the connection between the two believable – as it would make sense for people to want to fight alongside her troops. If we could pull that off it would be two diversions instead of just one, so that even if they called our bluff on one of them, we’d still got the other.”

“Right…”

“Except that we’ve asked for her help like a gazillion times…” Santana shrugs.

“ _We_ have.” Quinn nods before smirking towards Kurt, “ _He_ hasn’t.”

“What? He can’t leave the house, it’s too dangerous!” Will gasps.

“Oh please, he’s left the house twice now. I’m not saying he should go backpacking through the kingdoms. It’s not even a little bit dangerous if Blaine opens an international portal. Besides, I think it’s something we can risk, if it means military support.”

“An international portal is not reliable enough.”

“If it’s you opening it, sure it’s not…” Quinn shrugs and suddenly the whole room is immersed in heavy, awkward silence. “Blaine opens international portals all the time for camp prisoners, and keeps them open for hours, why would you think he couldn’t do it for the two of them now?”

Next to Kurt, Blaine is rubbing a hand over his face and taking a deep breath, while Will has suddenly gone a little pale, but somehow manages to plow through it. “Alright, so, say we get an international portal correctly opened, you know they trace those in seconds.”

“Not if they go together – someone would have to anyway. If it’s just the two of them, he barely needs to keep it open for longer than a second.”

“Just the two of them?”

Blaine clears his throat softly and cringes as he gets out, “I think we should give it a shot. I, huh, I can do it, and Carmen already knows me from when I went with you, anyway, so…”

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Quinn prompts when Will doesn’t immediately respond, “Who thinks Blaine and Kurt should go?”

Most hands rise.

“It’s decided.”

-x-

That night, after the meeting, it’s circumstances that keep Kurt from following Quinn’s advice and just talking to Blaine. Due to two bad nights in a row, Kurt’s eyes are falling shut every two seconds as he waits for Blaine to finish his intense-looking conversation with Quinn and Will, after dinner. Eventually, he can’t help it, the couch is just so soft and velvety, it really feels like it was made for napping. And it’s just a little nap. Just a small little nap, while he waits. He’ll wake up in five.

He doesn’t. He wakes up what feels like hours later (and it’s probably just a couple), with a hand shaking his shoulder. He cracks an eye open to find Blaine looking back over his shoulder and saying, “You guys go ahead, I’ll just get him to bed and go to sleep myself. Good night.”

Kurt struggles to see who Blaine was talking to, his brain a little slow and mushy.

“Hey, Kurt, you should probably go to bed, no?”

“Mm, velvety.” He murmurs pressing his cheek back into the pillow.

Blaine chuckles, “Yes, but not entirely ideal to spend the whole night on. You’ll get a crick in your neck, trust me.”

“Mm’kay,” Kurt concedes and pushes himself to sit, and Blaine offers a hand to pull him up. They shuffle quietly towards the bedrooms and as he finally reaches his door, he frowns and says, “Wait, no.” He turns back towards Blaine who was already continuing down the corridor, “We were, I-, we were supposed to talk,” Kurt mumbles before yawning.

Blaine squeezes his shoulder warmly, “Maybe tomorrow? When you’re, you know, awake.”

“Yeah.” Kurt nods sheepishly, “That might be better.”

“Good night.” Blaine waves with a fond chuckle, before turning and continuing towards his own bedroom.

Kurt strips carelessly and dives into his bed.

Exhaustion, it seems, is no free pass to get out of nightmares, and Kurt is wake within mere hours, panting again and hating the way the door slam always manages to scare the shit out of him. With a loud scream into his pillow, Kurt is determined to go back to sleep. Deciding that a glass of warm milk is his safest bet at a sleeping pill, he pushes himself off the bed and pads his way towards the kitchen.

He pours the milk into the kettle and lights the fire in the cooker, leaning his forearms against the counter as he waits.

“Let me guess,” a voice drawls.

“AHH!” Kurt squeals and turns around, holding out a spoon as weapon.

Santana looks between him and the spoon and cracks a smile, “Interesting choice.”

“Santana…!” he gasps, “You can’t do that. Oh my god… My heart’s racing.”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re having nightmares?”

“Yes. You?”

She shakes her head, “Insomnia. That’s twice I’ve seen you out of bed in the middle of the night…”

“Yes. Well…” he shrugs and doesn’t offer any more information. He’s not sure she’s the person he wants to be asking for advice about Blaine, right now.

“So you and Blaine made up,” she comments, as she pours herself a glass of water.

“Kind of, yes.”

She eyes him – it feels like an evaluation. “My first guess was spot on, I’ll try a new one. Blaine was the one who apologized, even though he really didn’t have much to apologize for.”

“Not that you should be talking, Santana,” he says pointedly and she rolls her eyes, “But yes, he was. How did you know? Did he tell you? Have _you_ guys made up?”

“No,” she says, short and clipped, “He didn’t need to. I’ve talked that guy out of ledges, I think I know him pretty well.”

“You’ve what?” Kurt gasps, as Santana’s face goes expertly blank. She seems to have noticed her faux-pas a little too late, and maybe Kurt shouldn’t push it, but he can’t just leave it at that, “Has he… did… did he ever try to kill himself?”

She takes a long sip of water, adjusting and readjusting the position of the glass on the table as she swallows slowly and deliberately. “I can’t speak for the time he lived in that castle” she starts, finally. “I didn’t know him then, he doesn’t like to talk about it and I don’t push him to. After that… Not really, no… But… the first camp we ever raided – it was messy business. It didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped, and it resulted in a lot of dead bodies, mostly camp prisoners. He didn’t… take it too well. After that, he kind of threw himself into every mission he could get… He went through a phase where he’d put himself deliberately in harm’s way.”

“Oh no…”

“It was like he owed them his life, too. As if the only way he could make things right was if he died fighting for them.” She shrugs, “I don’t know, it was depressing. I slapped him out of it and that’s that.”

“Oh my god…” Kurt’s head is in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, and it probably doesn’t help that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days.

“Kurt.” She sighs impatiently, “Okay, I know you know I’m being completely blasé on purpose, but still. It’s not a horror story. I mean, it was, but it’s over for the most part. He was young, stupid and messed up at the time. There will probably never be a time when Blaine’s not a little messed up, actually, but he’s not some wilting flower that needs special care or protection. Trust me, he can handle himself just fine.”

“Santana, you just told me he practically had himself killed.”

“That was almost two years ago.”

“It’s not that long.”

“Look – he might need a reality check every once in a while, but he’s not gonna off himself if you tell him you don’t wanna be together, or if you leave after you’ve been in gay heaven for a couple of months. Get over yourself. Just be real and stop jerking his feelings around – he’s been honest, now’s your turn.”

“How can you be like that?”

“Your milk’s steaming,” she shoots back, rising from her chair and making her way out of the kitchen.

Kurt’s left staring after her and feeling numb.

-x- ~~~~

“You have to go home, Kurt.” Blaine tells him, pulling the door open. His face is impassive and undecipherable. The complete absence of emotion is so wrong on Blaine.

“Blaine…”

“Go on,” he insists, still horribly vacant.

“I… Blaine…?” Kurt breathes carefully, “Will you be alright?”

Blaine shrugs, “Sure. I’m not a wilting flower. I’ll be fine. Get over yourself.” He gives Kurt one challenging look, a quirked eyebrow, before he spins on his heel and goes back to his own bedroom.

Kurt watches him leave before he turns to the space in front of him. His bedroom is exactly how he wants to remember it. His hands itch to touch it. He steps forwards, and breathes in the scent – just like always, everything falls apart as soon as he does, and the smell is the worst it’s ever been. He’s already by his bed, covered in ashes and dirt, when a small whimper calls his attention back. Blaine curls up on endless snow, scarlet blood spreading and spreading around him as he sobs. “Blaine!” Kurt gasps and starts to run but his body won’t move, “Blaine!”

The door slams, and Kurt wakes up.

“Fuck.”


	12. Compartmentalizing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glee isn't over until fandom says it's over.  
> "No one's gonna say goodbye. I keep you in this heart of mine!"  
> Let's celebrate what we had and keep creating new things. We got a world and character and a story, and now we get to bend it in any and every direction we want. We're pretty lucky like that. Love you all, very much. Thank you for being part of this strange little (big) family that is the Klaine /Glee fandom. Let's keep at it!!!
> 
> Warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and behaviors.

Kurt is staring at the door, observing the various shades of brown present in its wood, wondering what the temperature of the doorknob’s copper metal is, tracing the veins of dark and light brown and memorizing the exact patterns they create on Blaine’s bedroom door. It might not be the most interesting activity, but it’s less daunting than to knock.

Every moment that goes by without him knocking is a personal failure, and yet he can’t bring himself to do it. He knows Blaine is awake – he can hear him moving around on the other side of the door. Any minute now, Blaine is going to yank that door open and he’ll find Kurt there, pathetically incapable of knocking and initiating a conversation that absolutely has to happen.

“Oh! You’re here!” A voice yanks him out of his reverie and he all but squeals and collapses back first against the door. Rachel stands there with her hand on her hip, “Long time, no see. So you’re ready to go back to our usual workout, or are you still leaving me alone?”

Kurt doesn’t have time to answer before the door he’s still pressed against opens and he nearly topples backwards, with a yelp.

“Y-Oh! Sorry, Kurt!” Blaine steadies him, hands on his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Kurt mumbles, and turns back to Rachel, “Actually, I don’t think I can, right now. I’m sorry, I need to, huh,…”

“Oh, right!” Rachel gasps, eyes wide and jumping between Kurt and Blaine. “Well, yes, you should definitely go do that, then, bye!” She gets through in one breath before she walks away with wide, quick steps.

Kurt suppresses a mortified groan, before he turns towards Blaine.

“You need to..?” he prompts with a soft, curious smile.

“Talk to you?” Kurt offers, trying not to make it sound like the idea alone agonizes him, “Maybe? If you can?”

“Oh, Oh! Yes! Of course… Just… go on inside and I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to tell Sam to go without me.” Blaine hurries to push Kurt inside the bedroom and then jog away. Kurt stands awkwardly by the door until his body catches up to him and notices he’d been holding his breath.

He sighs, and rolls his eyes, lightly slapping his cheeks a couple of times. He crosses the bedroom and sits down on Blaine’s desk chair. While he waits, he busies himself looking around the familiar room and trying to discover new details. He smiles as he notices the shelves on the bookcase are bent, giving in to the excessive weight of Blaine’s endless collection of books. He reads the label of every little bottle and box of powders and liquids on his crowded desk, and recognizes only a handful from back home.

He cracks the book on the desk open and reads the first paragraph of the page on display. He frowns as he realizes it’s fiction. He’s never considered that. For all the time he’s been staying in this house, all the books he’s read or seen were documentary and non-fiction – they were all about explaining and telling things he needed to know. But this is so very clearly fiction – this isn’t something meant to inform or educate – or at least not on a first level – this is something meant to entertain. It seems silly to be so surprised by this finding, but somehow, Kurt realizes, he had never considered this world to have a culture, despite the many off-hand comments from Blaine and Rachel that should’ve told him otherwise.

Closing the book again, he reads over the author’s name and wonders if it’s the equivalent of a Jane Austen, a J.K. Rowling or a John Green. Knowing Blaine, it could be either one. He smiles at the thought.

“It’s my favorite book,” Blaine’s voice calls from the doorway. “I must’ve read it, what, six times now…? You can have it if you want. I bet you’re itching for something with a story rather than facts,” he offers as he closes the door and walks slowly towards his bed. As he sits down, he tilts his head a little and smiles – it’s not exactly happy, and probably not even that genuine, it’s just tentative. “So you say you want to talk.” ~~~~

Kurt swallows in dry, but nods. “Yes, I think… I think this conversation is overdue.”

“Probably. I’ve pretty much said what I have to say, maybe you could start us off on the subject.”

“Okay… So…” Kurt nods to himself and looks at his own hands as he twists his fingers, trying to coerce a cohesive train of thought out of there. It’s so hard to choose where to start. “I’ve been having this nightmare,” he says, and apparently that's where he’s starting. Okay. “You’re in it. Just you and me. And sometimes Cat, but mostly us.”

“A nightmare?”

“Yes. We’re, huh, we’re doing… stuff. On a bed. We’re on a bed doing stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Kurt shoots him a glare, because he knows Blaine knows what he meant, “Sex stuff – we’re doing sex stuff,” he grits out, ignoring the hotness in his cheeks, “And then you stop, and you tell me I have to go away. And I don’t understand why you’d want me gone if you said you cared about me, but you just keep saying that I have to go, and that it doesn’t matter if you like me or not…”

“Because you have to go regardless…?”

“Yes, exactly. So, out of the blue, you open this door, and suddenly there’s my old room, from back home, and you tell me to go on, and I do. But when I look back, you’re in the middle of the snow crying your heart out, and then I want to go back but the door just slams in my face and I wake up.”

“Oh.” Blaine frowns, and then sighs, before saying, “It could’ve been worse…”

“Last night you were also bleeding. Profusely.”

“Blood on the snow… that’s a strong visual.”

“Stop it.” Kurt rolls his eyes, “Don’t be like that. I… Last night… I- Santana told me you used to have… huh, certain… behaviors that… you know.” He swallows, “That you were pretty much suicidal.”

Blaine looks a little taken aback, but he recovers with a deep breath and cough, “Well, that’s true.” He nods, “I was. I was heavily depressed and trapped in a vicious circle of self-loathing and… well, yeah, I’ll admit I thought about… _that_. A lot, actually. I got reckless with my behavior and… well sometimes it was a little more than that, maybe. But I had people who noticed it, and helped me through it, and I’m a lot better now. Some days are better than others, I guess, but I’m learning to cope, and it’s not… it’s not like that anymore. I wouldn’t… I don’t… I don’t really think about it anymore.” He stops, closes his eyes and clenches his jaw for a second. “Often…” he adds in a whisper. “But now, even if I do, I know I’m not alone. I have people who’d help me and I’ve learned how to let them do it. I know that, now. It’s not…” He sighs and frowns, “It’s not something I want you to worry about.”

“Blaine…”

“Hey, listen, Kurt. I’m serious,” he says, leaning a little closer, “It’s not something you need to worry about. I’ve grown a lot, since then. I’m better.”

“Well… I still worry. I can’t help it. It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like, thinking maybe it’d be better to just disappear and not have to deal with things anymore, and I just can’t ignore that, Blaine. I can’t look away and says _Well, but he’s better now_. Because I know that’s not how it works. _I know_.” He sighs and lets his eyes slip closed for a moment.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that, Kurt.”

“I don’t either. I just… well, we both know what the dream is about, and I think we need to get it out in the open.”

“Okay.” Blaine nods, looking entirely serious.

“Okay… so…?” he gestures with his hands for Blaine to continue.

“Oh, no.” Blaine shakes his head and sits a little straighter, “That is your decision. That’s your choice. Don’t throw that on me. You want to acknowledge it, fine, but you do it. And I _have_ done it, anyway. It’s your turn.”

“Fine,” Kurt huffs out with his mouth as dry as cotton, “I’m leaving. I don’t know when, or how, but that’s the plan.”

“And I want to be with you,” Blaine adds, his voice softer than before, “And you’re afraid you’ll break my heart when you leave.”

“No – I mean, yes, of course I’m afraid of that, but it’s not… just that.” Kurt takes in a deep breath, feeling silly for being so nervous about admitting it, “I also want to be with you. I mean, I…I like you. I feel the same way.”

“You do?” Blaine looks genuinely surprised, and Kurt wants to ask him if he’s blind, but then again, maybe he’s not one to talk.

“I do,” he breathes, “I’ve felt that way for such a long time, now – even when I thought you were straight and dating Santana.”

Blaine chuckles softly, “That was a good night.”

“It was such a good night.” They hold each other’s eyes for a long, drawn-out moment before Kurt finally looks down at his nervous hands and sighs, “But it’s not… smart, is it? This thing between us…? Falling for you might just be the stupidest thing I’ll ever do.”

“Yes…” Blaine shrugs, “but-… well, I don’t know about you, but I can’t exactly control that. And honestly…? I don’t know if I would choose otherwise, given the chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I’m with you – even if it is just spending the whole night talking to you, or goofing around – I feel… okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t feel broken, anymore, I feel… well, I feel like I’m enough.” Blaine clarifies, with the tired tone of someone who knows the other person understood them too perfectly – someone who isn’t used to being this open and brutally honest. “I get why you’d think this is a mistake, I do. And I also respect it. Actually, I think I’m probably being incredibly selfish about it, especially after what you just told me, but, there are very little things in my life that have felt less like a mistake than this between us. Whatever it is.”

“But, Blaine-”

“Listen… you didn’t look at me like I was some… fragile thing before you knew about my family and my… past. Please don’t do it now. I promise you, I’m not. I may have my bad days, but I’ve learnt how to deal with it, and I’m mostly fine. So, when you do go away, I’ll be heartbroken, yes, but I _will_ move on. And I’ll cherish what we had, while we could.”

“Blaine…”

“I’m not saying we have to be together like that… I respect that you might not feel the same way as me. You might think it would be too much for you, to go into it and take it all back. If you do, I promise I stand back. If you want to stay the way we are now, I’ll be glad to call you my friend. But if you’re holding back for _my_ well-being…?” Blaine smiles, “My feelings for you are here whether I act on them or not, and it’s not going to hurt any less when you go away. If anything,” he adds with a shrug that barely scrapes casual, “I’ll regret not knowing what kissing you feels like.”

“Oh my god…!”

This is surreal. This is the most surreal thing that has ever happened to Kurt. Out of all the things – interworld portals, crown princes, elves, dictatorships and assassinated parents – this is the most surreal. A boy that truly, deeply wants him. He can’t help it when he glances towards Blaine’s lips. It would be Kurt’s first kiss, and Kurt knows it would be perfect. Blaine’s lips look perfect.

“I…” he stutters out, “I… I don’t know, Blaine, I don’t – I can’t… think…”

“Then don’t do it. Don’t do anything. I don’t want to pressure you into anything.” Blaine reaches out and places a warm hand over both of Kurt’s, stilling their anxious movements, “I’d never want you to regret anything between us.”

“I wouldn’t,” Kurt says immediately.

Blaine gives him smile, but doesn’t say anything else. They sit in silence for a while. Kurt can’t bring himself to look at Blaine for more than a second at a time – if he does, he might do something truly stupid.

“You were still the one doing most of the talking…” Kurt points out, when he can’t handle the silence anymore.

Blaine lets out a laugh, “I guess.” He shrugs, “That’s okay. I think you need to think now, and figure out what you want to say to me. This doesn’t have to be the end of this conversation. This was just part one. I can wait for part two… and three, and four. Maybe it won’t end until the last words are goodbye. It’s still a conversation I want to have.”

“Okay.”

“So, think about it, and get back to me.”

“Yeah… I guess.” Kurt takes a long breath as he realizes this could never be as simple as one, swift conversation and a clean-cut decision.

Blaine stands up from his bed in a quick, sudden movement. “Alright, so…!” he bounces on his feet, only now looking anxious and nervous, as he bites his lip. “I think I’ll just go… because I just need to… you know – not be looking at you right now… cuz you’re, huh, you know, gorgeous. But…” He cringes and closes his eyes, rubs the bridge of his nose before snapping himself out of it, “Oh, yeah, read the book. I think you’ll like it. I just – I’m gonna-”

“Blaine…!” Kurt calls, grabbing his wrist just as Blaine moves towards the door, and standing to look him level in the eye, “I… I need you to know… I may not be sure about what to do here, but I… I’m very sure about my feelings for you.”

“Kurt, you don’t-”

“I _am_ ,” he insists, “I… I… want to kiss you, too.” It’s both the hardest and the sweetest thing he’s ever had to say, and he should feel stupid at how infantile and silly it sounds, but he can’t, “Very much so.” He lets his fingers slide against the back of Blaine’s hand, and he feels his body burning with a need to move closer.

“Kurt…” Blaine breathes, closing his eyes and looking so completely vulnerable – so wholeheartedly at Kurt’s mercy.

Kurt doesn’t know if he can have what he truly craves, but at least he can have this, right? He can have _a_ kiss. A simple slide of lips – he gets to know how that feels.

Kurt closes his own eyes, and lets his forehead rest against Blaine’s. A hand comes to curl at the back of his neck, thumb pressing eagerly at his jaw, and Kurt leans into the touch, his own hand coming to hold Blaine’s chin, pull him that much closer, breaths mingling as there’s barely any space between them.

Someone knocks on the door and they fly apart like scalded birds. The door opens and Will pokes his head in “Oh, good, you’re both here! Carmen is leaving on a diplomatic trip in two days, so if we want to talk to her, you got to go there as soon as possible. We don’t know when she’s coming back, and we can’t just leave this to last minute. Besides, it’s best if this is done on the spur, the less planning, the less people know about this. We can’t afford to have people outside of this place know about it, yet.”

“Oh…!” Blaine sputters. Kurt wonders if Will’s noticing their red cheeks and frozen brains, but probably not, given how natural he’s being about the whole exchange.

“Do you think you could be ready in half an hour?”

“What?!” Kurt gasps.

-x-

They’re standing just outside of the Inn, bags on their backs in the midday sun. Kurt pulls his coat tight around himself as he waits for Blaine and Will to stop discussing whatever details they’re still figuring out. Will looks more nervous than Blaine, who’s just calmly taking in what’s being said, nodding and not posing a single question.

Kurt wishes they could have discussed this inside the house, because he’s seriously freezing his ass off. A particularly violent shiver runs down his spine and he grits his teeth to keep himself from calling them out. At that moment, though, Quinn bursts out of the house and sprints towards them. “Could I have a word with you, Blaine?”

Blaine frowns and follows her out of earshot, not even sparing a glance towards Will.

Kurt can’t hear what they’re saying, but Quinn is handing him something and Blaine nods and pulls her into a tight hug. She pulls back, looking a little down, and wordlessly makes her way back towards the house, where Puck stands watching her, and immediately wraps his arms around her shoulders and carefully guides her inside.

Blaine walks back to Kurt and Will. “Ok, we’re ready,” he announces, not giving Will an opportunity to ask or say anything else, “Kurt, I’ll be opening a portal to a couple towns away, because international portals may be traced, and we can’t risk it being traced to this place.

“Okay.” Kurt nods, having already understood that from their previous conversation.

“Alright, so, huh, let’s try to be as quick about it as possible. We don’t want the portal open for more than absolutely necessary. Can you, huh, stand as close as possible to me, please.”

Will rolls his eyes. “Hug him, Kurt,” he says, “so he can open the portal on the exact spot you’re both standing.”

Kurt blushes violently, but does as he’s told, and puts his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, keeping his breathing in check as Blaine wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him closer. “Ready?”

“Sure,” he breathes.

Blaine smiles and leans in, holding tight as a golden light envelops them and for a moment Kurt feels as if he’s drowning in ice-cold water, and his internal organs are all missing. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long, and before he even so much as gasps at the sensation, they’re back on solid, dry ground. Kurt feels a little dizzy.

“Sorry,” Blaine says, “I know it’s not the best sensation.”

“It’s fine…” Kurt murmurs.

“Okay… The coast is clear. We should go. Last we knew these woods weren’t monitored, but we can’t be sure, and we best not waste time. You okay to go?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“This might be a little more, okay? Brace yourself, and, huh, hold tight.”

“Right, yeah.” Kurt steps forward and resumes position, taking a deep breath as he feels Blaine pulling him closer once more and regretting it slightly as the most delicious scent invades his lungs. He holds back a moan, but can’t help leaning closer and pulling him in.

“Ready?” Blaine asks, sounding a little breathless.

“Yes.”

The golden light is back, along with the cold and that horrible rollercoaster sensation. This time, though, it doesn’t end at once, and when he finds that he can’t breathe, a strange, overwhelming sensation of panic takes over him and he finds that he can’t move, either.

The moment that there’s solid ground beneath his feet Kurt pulls away, doubles over, and empties the scarce contents of his stomach. Kurt falls to his knees and continues retching even though he knows there’s nothing else to throw up. Blaine doesn’t even say anything as he just leans over, putting a soothing hand on Kurt’s back and another on his forehead, the pressure making Kurt feel a little less like his head is about to explode.

“Better?” Blaine asks, once Kurt manages to catch a good breath between retches and it feels like it might be over.

“Yeah… I think so…” he mumbles, nodding, as he starts trying to get up, despite his shaking body.

“Don’t,” Blaine admonishes him, pushing him back down, and passing him a flask of water. “Drink a little water, rinse it out and get yourself together. No hurry.”

They sit on the ground for a while before Kurt can focus on anything besides the way his body felt like it was collapsing. Looking around him he gasps, “Oh god!”

It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. They’re standing on top of a wide hill, but beneath them spreads a city that goes on to the horizon, a glittering river crossing its middle. The sun is much lower than it had been, just minutes before at the Inn, and yet there’s still so much light because every building is tall and white.

From this distance, the buildings look like they might be made out of origami, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Okay, I can walk now.”

Blaine helps him up and they start to make their way down the hill. “I’m sorry I didn’t get us closer to the palace, but this city is always changing and growing and I couldn’t risk opening the portal to some random place and land us impaled on a street bench or something, you know? It’s better to use the official portal area like this, so you’re always sure it’s a safe arrival.”

“You didn’t even break a sweat…” Kurt breathes, frowning at the way Blaine looks completely unbothered while he’s pretty sure his own face still looks green, and entirely ignoring what Blaine was saying.

Blaine gives him a sympathetic smile. “It’s unpleasant, but I’ve gotten used to it. The first few times are the worst.”

“I guess.”

“The bigger the distance, the worse it is, of course.”

“Oh, totally… when I got here, I passed out, actually.”

“What, seriously?”

“Yes, and I had a headache for quite some time. But it was very different from these portals, because, like,… I didn’t even feel it. One moment the train was going through Ohio, the other it was stopping right next to that camp. And I think if it hadn’t been for Cat, I wouldn’t even have gotten off the train.”

“Cat?!”

“Yeah, she sneaked up behind me and scared the shit outta me. I fell off the train.”

“That’s impossible,” Blaine gasps, stopping halfway down the hill. Kurt stops as well and quirks an eyebrow at the display of utter bewilderment.

“I can assure you it’s true. Cat was there.”

“She’s… I… I never let her leave the house on mission days. I’d never bring her along to a camp. Never!”

“Well, she must’ve slipped out, because she was there. I promise,” Kurt informs him, restarting his way down the hill. There’s a pause before he can hear Blaine’s footsteps hurrying to catch up.

“No… That’s. I,” he struggles as they jog towards the city, “The thing I did to you the other day, locking you up. I always do that to Cat. She had… she had no way to leave.”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Blaine. She was there. I know what I saw.”

Blaine gives him a strange, strangled look, opens his mouth and then shuts it. The rest of the way through the city, to its very center, is silent. Blaine is walking briskly, slightly ahead of Kurt, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists as his eyes squint in concentration. Every now and then, he will run a hand through his hair, and shake his head. Kurt doesn’t mind the silent treatment at all. Not only is he having enough trouble taking in his surroundings without the added complication of a strange conversation, he also doesn’t need to worry about how absolutely wrong it felt to be talking to Blaine as if nothing had been happening just a couple hours ago. As if they hadn’t almost kissed.

The city around them is boisterous and mesmerizing. Everywhere people are going to and fro, talking, yelling, sometimes singing. Their complexions vary in several shades of dark with only a scarce pop of pale every now and then. Their clothes are filled with red, pink, yellow, green, purple… all sorts of color Kurt had almost forgotten existed since he’d gone into town, all those weeks ago. It’s not that everybody is bursting with laughter or uncontained joie de vivre, but the fact is that the contrast is still very much stark between the two populations.

The ground beneath Kurt’s feet is gravel of a beautiful shade of amber, and contrasts beautifully to the white, wispy walls around him. It crunches rhythmically beneath their feet, as they walk at a steady pace, and he focuses on that rather than on the way Blaine still looks as if he’s been having a mental breakdown for the last half hour. In fact, he doesn’t look anywhere near appeased when they turn the corner into a wide street lined with naked, but enormous trees, tilted toward the banks of a river and a bridge that leads to the biggest building Kurt has seen since he came here. Also the most beautiful.

The palace, like an imposing island in the middle of the river, rises beautifully above most buildings, but it doesn’t look like any Kurt has ever seen in fairytales or books. It doesn’t sport tall, thin towers, or ornate walls. It’s rounded and soft, unassuming but still grand in its simplicity, its pure white walls are adorned by enormous pieces of glass, glinting everywhere with golden sunset light and the glittering reflections of the water that surrounds it.

“Wow…” Kurt breathes.

Blaine glances at Kurt and gives him a small smile and a nod.

“So we just… walk in…?”

“Pretty much,” Blaine says, as he continues walking towards the front gate at the start of the wide bridge, “Sorry about the silence, by the way. I’m just… reassessing some things.”

“No problem.”

As they finally reach the gate, the tall imposing figure of a man comes to stand in their way.

“Could you please notify Queen Carmen that Blaine Anderson and a friend are here, in the hopes to see her.” Blaine tells him calmly.

The man looks him over with a carefully blank expression before he takes a deep breath and nods, walking wordlessly towards another guard and telling him something in a hushed voice. The second guard makes his way towards the right side of the palace, ignoring its wide front steps and beautiful glass double doors. They wait for what must be at least twenty minutes – the sun has completely set by the time the guard comes back and says something to the first guard, who walks over and says, “Very well, follow me.”

They do go through the front door this time, and Kurt tries not to balk at the sight of the gigantic entrance hall, and the sudden intake of light. A woman with blonde hair and only a hint of a tan on her skin is coming towards them from the opposite end of the hall, smiling widely and already sticking out her hand, as her black gown flows freely behind her.

“Mr. Anderson! So wonderful to see you, again!” she says, and Kurt does gape, this time at the way that Blaine purposefully ignores the woman’s hand.

“Nice to see you, too, Miss July.”

She doesn’t seem much phased at Blaine’s complete lack of warmth and instead turns towards Kurt, eyes widening as they meet his own, “Oh, my! What do we have here? Could it really be?” she gasps, at once directing her hand toward Kurt, “I am Cassa-”

“No, Kurt don’t-!” Blaine gasps as Kurt moves to shake her hand, and, as they do touch, Blaine grits out, “Shit.”

Kurt feels a sort of tingling heat in his hand where he’s touching Miss July, who retrieves her hand, grinning widely and then turns back to Blaine, eyes glinting with mirth, “Is that so?”

“What? What is so?”

Blaine clenches is jaw and returns Miss July’s smile with his very own cynic version, and it’s the first time Kurt’s seen Blaine look so… mean. “We’re here to see _Queen Carmen_.”

“Oh, I know, but given your… ancestry, Blaine, you can’t possibly think we’d just let you see her without someone attesting to your good will and selfless motives.”

“Well, it’s attested to now, isn’t it?”

“No need to be so prissy about it, Blainey.” She sighs dismissively, as she turns on her heels and starts walking in the direction she came from, “After all, I do love me some young love.”

“What?” Kurt frowns, and Blaine takes a deep, frustrated breath as he starts following the woman.

“Come on,” he tells Kurt, “She’ll take us to the Queen.” He says, and then adds in a quick, hushed voice, “Also she’s a time-teller.”

“Wha-Oh!” Kurt gasps, “So she saw-”

“Just your recent past.” Blaine assures him, though he’s still not particularly happy, “She’s not _that_ talented.”

“I heard that, _Anderson_.” Miss July throws over her shoulder.

“Okay.” Blaine says, and Kurt gapes at him. Blaine gives him a smirk and a shrug and Kurt feels like the world has been turned upside down. And yet, he thinks as he watches the look of satisfied contempt on Blaine’s face, it’s kind of sexy.

(As if things couldn’t get any worse, of course.)

They walk through a long, bright corridor before Miss July finally opens a door and let’s them into a room filled with bookcases and books, and nice, inviting couches with small tables next to them. Sitting in one of those couches, dressed in long, mesmerizing yellow robes and the most intricately wound turban, is a stunning black woman. As she notices their arrival, she stands. She’s not taller than Kurt, but he certainly feels like she is. Intimidating in a way that great people always seem to be, she commands the room easily.

“Thank you, Cassandra.” She says, turning a blue-eyed stare at Miss July, “You may go.”

“I’d rather stay.”

“I’d rather you go.” She answers easily, without any hint of bite behind it.

Cassandra seems to hesitate, before she bitterly nods and walks out, closing the door behind herself.

“So, what brings you back, Blaine Anderson?”

“Your highness,” Blaine says, bowing slightly and slipping back into his usual persona of polite manners and easy smiles, “I’d like you to meet Kurt.”

Kurt lets Blaine’s hand at the small of his back guide him forward. He’s suddenly struck with the fact that he has no idea what the protocol in a situation like this is, and ends up somewhere between bowing and offering his hand for a shake.

A low, husky laugh pulls his eyes back up, and he sees that the queen is smiling, “There will be no need for bowing.” She says, “Especially not from you, young man.” She adds, looking him straight in the eye. She takes a deep pause, considering Kurt and taking him in before she turns back to Blaine and says, “I see.”

“It seems the prophecy has been partly fulfilled.”

“And you’re hoping that this will finally convince me to give you my men.”

“Not necessarily.” Blaine says, “We were hoping for a distraction. Something that will give us enough breathing space to infiltrate the castle. That’s all we need. Something that’ll make him deploy his troops and his best men elsewhere. We’re already thinking of staging a riot up north, but we could use something in the south.”

“So you’re asking me to pretend to attack.” She asks carefully.

“Yes.”

“It’s certainly an interesting proposition, Blaine. But I’ll have to think about it.” Kurt’s heard similar words from his dad to know by now that this is thinly veiled no. Before he can say anything on impulse, though, Blaine is speaking again – his tone still polite but with twinge of something to it.

“Listen, Anderson’s ideology is expansive. He’s been sitting still for nearly eighteen years now, I can assure that it won’t be long before he starts trying to expand his dominium. I overheard enough conversations on the subject to know that for sure.”

“But he hasn’t in the last eighteen years.”

“Because he’s had to control the situation back home first. Now, he believes he has. The men he’s been promoting to generals and captains are warfare man. The kind of men he would need to start a war on foreign ground.”

“You’re very kind to warn me about these.” She’s smirking and eyeing Blaine with a considerable amount of amusement, like an adult talking to a child. It’s condescending and it’s getting Kurt more annoyed by the second. “And I will make sure to investigate these suppositions.”

“I know we shouldn’t expect an answer today…”

“Nor shall you have it.” She interrupts, her smile turning less teasing and a little warmer, “But if it does prove true that my country is in danger, I assure I will not sit idly by.”

“And if it’s not?” Kurt frowns, “You’ll sit idly by and let someone else’s country get fucked over, year after year, until it’s so destroyed there’s absolutely no way anyone could ever fight back?”

It’s the first time she’s looked back to him, and she raises her eyebrows and contemplates Kurt for a very long time. “You are right to assume that I care more for my own people, than I do for another kingdom’s. My loyalty and my responsibility lies with _my_ people.”

“It’s not about loyalty or responsibility. It’s about being a decent human being.”

“Kurt…”

“No! This is crap! You can’t honestly sit there and say you’ll think about it, when we’re not even asking you to endanger any of _your_ people. _My_ people are dying!”

“Young man, don’t be naïve. You’re asking me to do something that, if it became known to John Anderson, would undoubtedly mean war – and therein lies the danger towards _my_ people.”

“You’ll have war, either way.” Kurt shrugs, trying to keep his volume in check, “Blaine is not in the business of lying.”

“And so let me ask you a question. If your neighbor’s son was dying, and you had a medicine that could help him, but not necessarily save him, and yet, you had your own son to think of, and a good chance that your son could, too, become sick. Would you give the medicine to your neighbor’s son?”

“I would give him the fucking medicine, and then do whatever it took to get more for my son.”

“That was not an option.”

“Listen, I’m not gonna stand here and discuss an idiotic hypothetical situation when there is a real fucking problem out there. Metaphors aren’t going to save your name from shame when you go down in History as a coward who stood by and let thousands die.”

There is a particularly long stretch of silence among the three of them. Queen Carmen is eyeing Kurt with the kind of stoic expression that he would kill to be able to pull off, while Blaine is standing there with his lips pressed into a thin line and glancing nervously between the other two. The tension is thick, but Kurt finds he couldn’t be comfortable any other way. He is not going to politely bow out of this argument. He can’t. There are fights worth having.

Finally, Carmen seems to draw a long breath, “Like I said, I will-”

“Think about it.” Kurt interrupts, voice cold and dripping with contempt, “You know, when parents say that, it usually means no. They’re just too cowardly to say so upfront.”

“Coward is certainly something you’re not.” She says, her words slow and calculated.

“No. I’ve never been, and I’m not going to start now.” He holds his chin high and squares his shoulders, “If you want to refuse to help us, say so. Otherwise you’re just wasting our time.” He steps a little closer, “Although, maybe the fact that you can’t bring yourself to say no to our faces, should probably tell you something, right?” he stares back just as strong as her, “Like maybe that it’s so morally wrong that there’s no way to spin it otherwise.”

“I think maybe we should leave it at that, for now.” She says in a tone that verges on menacing, and Kurt opens his mouth to bite back when Blaine speaks.

“I don’t think we should.” He says, fast and clipped like he almost can’t believe he said it. He’s frowning at himself before he takes a deep breath and looks up at her, starts again, “The-the truth is that you have been letting us get murdered in our own home for years now, and every time we asked for your help you said no because we didn’t have a viable plan. We’re here, with a viable plan, and your excuse is that you’d be risking your men’s lives? With all due respect, Your Highness, a leader’s responsibility doesn’t stop at keeping their people safe – it includes setting a good example. One would think you’d want to show solidarity and strength in the face of cruelty, injustice and plain evil. What my father is doing is horrible and despicable… but what you’re doing? What you’re doing is… it’s…”

“Pathetic.” Kurt adds, “Sorry, Blaine, you were on a roll but I felt a political correctness coming on there and I just needed to keep the record straight.”

Blaine shoots him the fondest smile, but doesn’t waste much more time, “So if you don’t want to help us, by all means, don’t. I just hope that you’ll never need help from anyone ever, lest they be as cautiously selfish as you.” He takes a deep shuddering breath before he adds in a very final tone, “We will be leaving now. You know how to reach us, if you need.”

Blaine’s bow as he leaves is fake and bordering on disrespectful, and he grabs Kurt’s hand in a swift motion turning and walking towards the door.

They’re yanking it open when she calls after them “Stay for the night. I will tell you my answer in the morning.”

-x-

“So that was intense,” Kurt remarks as the man guiding them to their bedroom for the night finally closes the door.

Blaine huffs a silent chuckle, “It felt good.”

“It did?”

“Yeah! You were amazing, Kurt! Every time I’ve come here with Will, it’s the same bullshit over and over again. If we’re not gonna get her help, we might as well be honest about it.” He shrugs, “Which bed do you want?”

“Window,” Kurt says, a little dazed at the compliment, and Blaine drops his bag on the bed closest to the door, “But, hm, she seems a little… uncertain now. I think she might help us.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Blaine says, “She might consider it, but once Cassandra tells her you’re not planning on staying afterwards, she might see that as a lacking plan.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry, Kurt, I should’ve told you not to shake her hand. I should’ve known she’d come meet us first.”

“It’s fine, Blaine. Like she said, she needed to make sure we weren’t a threat, right?”

“Yes, but she should’ve done that to me, when I was ready for it and had managed to clear my head of everything else.”

“You can do that?”

“Like I said, she’s not _that_ talented,” Blaine says, “She may put on a good show, and she is useful as far as asserting honesty goes, but excruciatingly good time-tellers are very, very rare, and she’s just… average.”

“Then why is she the one here?”

“Because people better than her also have a tendency to work for themselves, or just refuse to use their gift at all. It’s hard not becoming cynic and distrustful when you know every thought a person’s ever had, or will have.” Blaine shrugs, “You want to use the bathroom first?”

“I, huh,… no, you go ahead. I can wait.”

“Thanks.” Blaine smiles before he collects a couple of things and locks himself up in the bathroom.

Kurt takes a sit on his designated bed and stares straight ahead, his head completely overfilled with thoughts. It’s too hard to even distinguish and separate one subject from the other, everything’s muddled up together and he feels like he either needs three weeks to sleep and forget about it, or an enormous drawing board and those same weeks to work through all of it.

It’s gotten to such a point that the fact that Blaine’s showering, naked, on the other side of the bathroom door, barely even registers. Instead, he just sits there and wonders if there’s some sort of manual on how to deal with feelings for someone you’re planning on never seeing again after three months or less. As well as another manual on how to be a temporary national leader without feeling like a hypocrite when he calls people out on their lack of empathy.

He tries not to think about when that day specifically comes – everything before or after, he might as well, but not that one. Saying goodbye to people he’s come to know and think of as friends – the best friends he’s ever had in his life. Saying goodbye to this world he’s just now getting to know. Showing his face to the people who’ve dreamt and hoped for his arrival, only to tell them, “Okay, thanks for the support, bye!”

Saying goodbye to Blaine.

Instead he chooses to focus on getting back to New York. Going to college and getting back on his feet. Watching movies again, bad reality TV, and checking things off his bucket list, simple things like eating breakfast at Tiffany’s, and near-impossible dreams like having a successful fashion line. ~~~~

Those things will surely make up for anything else he leaves behind. He’s sure. Very sure.

Blaine opens the bathroom door, copious amounts of steam surrounding him as he towel dries his hair, already dressed in a white undershirt and loose pants. “You okay?” he asks as he finds Kurt sitting still and staring at his own hands.

“I… How can you pretend like everything’s fine?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t mean it like I’m mad at you or anything, but it’s just… this morning we were… we almost… you know, kissing. And now you’re asking me which bed I prefer and if I want to use the bathroom first. I’m just… how do you do that?”

“I…” Blaine frowns, dropping the towel on his own bed and sitting opposite Kurt, “Do you want to go back to talking about it?”

“No... I just…”

“Are you ready for us to act on our feelings?”

“No, I mean, maybe. I don’t know.”

“That means no,” Blaine says softly, “Listen, just because I’m not talking about it, doesn’t mean I don’t care. Being who I am, I’ve had to learn how to compartmentalize things.”

“Oh.”

“But if or when you do want to revisit the issue, please do. Although… I do hope that in the meantime you’re still, you know, my friend.”

“Okay. I can try that. I can try compartmentalizing.” Kurt nods to himself, taking a deep breath and gathering his stuff, “I can do that.”

Blaine gives him an amused smile, before Kurt slips into the bathroom and proceeds to panic over it. The truth is, he has no idea how to compartmentalize.

Except he does.

He really, really does. He’d find his dad looking longingly at a picture of his mother, and that entire day he made sure not to mention her, even if he was burning with ache inside. He’d suffer through slur after shove after slur, but surely if he had good grades he’d be someone better than them so he studied, he applied himself, even when all he wanted to do was run away and never come back. He’d come home covered in bruises, shoulders slammed hard against lockers, but his father mustn’t know, so instead he sang as he cooked dinner, even if all he wanted was to curl up in his father’s arms and beg him to make it all stop.

He didn’t use to know how to compartmentalize – it wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t like these walls around his feelings. But somewhere along the line they came and they stayed. They grew roots and he’s startled to realize that he’s become the type of person who bottles up. Only this time… this time everything is so absurd that his mind is at a loss for what to do – every day there’s something new to understand, to internalize. And so the walls are bending beneath the weight of a thousand pictures and newspaper clippings, and maps with strings, and most of all… Blaine. Blaine everywhere.

Maybe it’s not that Kurt doesn’t know how to do it – it’s just that he doesn’t know how to compartmentalize Blaine.

Not now, anyway, not with everything else already happening – it’s one problem too many.

After his own shower, he brushes his teeth and spends a few minutes combing through his hair, hoping that Blaine’s asleep by now.

Of course, he’s not so lucky. As he steps out, he finds Blaine sitting cross-legged on his bed, with his head on his hands, elbows on knees and frowning deeply.

“You okay?” Kurt half chuckles, mirroring Blaine all those minutes ago.

Blaine startles and smiles back, looking remarkably tired, “Yeah… mostly, yes.”

“I…” Kurt feels as words bubble up inside of him, all sorts of possibilities and things he should or could say claw at each other trying to get out, only to get themselves stuck in his throat. Instead, what comes out is, “We should sleep.” Maybe – just maybe, he’s got a little more room in these walls of his. Just enough to keep himself sane a little longer.

“Yeah, we should,” Blaine agrees.

-x-

“I am not in the habit of apologizing,” Queen Carmen’s voice is effortlessly strong as she steps into the same room where they’d talked the day before. Kurt and Blaine turn, startled at the sudden entrance, “However, I can admit when others are right and I am not. I am also not in the habit of beating around the bush.” She smiles, “When the time comes I will give you the tactical distraction you need. I will also provide you with men for the actual fighting that will ensue – no matter how much you distract him, there will still be troops ready to protect the Castle, and I’m sure you can’t handle that on your own.”

“No… we… we were going to avoid open conflict, but I’ll admit it’s risky.”

“Right. I will give you whatever number of men you might need. Just come back, when you have a detailed plan so that we can negotiate that number. But the two of you, that’s who I talk to from now on.”

“Oh. Oh!” Blaine gasps, “Really?”

“Yes,” she says in a surprisingly emotionless tone, and yet, to both boys it’s like the most beautiful music ever created.

“Oh my god! That is such good news!” Kurt squeals, bringing his hands together, and grasping them tight, lest he start clapping like some sort of aqua-show seal.

“Thank you, Your Highness!” Blaine gasps, “I don’t even know what to say, I’m speechless. This means so much, thank you! Thank you. On behalf of The Resistance, I can’t even begin to describe-”

“You’re welcome. All of you,” she interrupts with only the hint of a smile. “I will be proud to help. I hope we’ll continue to be close allies in the future,” she says, directed at Blaine before she turns towards Kurt and adds, “And your people will lose someone very precious when you leave, I hope you understand that.”

“Oh,” Kurt gasps, “I… yes, it’s not a guarantee, but…”

“Not all of us want to wear a crown, no matter how good we’d be in it,” she smiles knowingly, “Good Luck, Kurt Hummel.”

“Oh! Thank you.”

“Well, I believe that is all for now. You’ll be in touch,” she doesn’t ask, she tells.

“Right, yes. We’ll be leaving, then,” Blaine says, happily, “Thank you, again!”

“Goodbye.” She nods, with her own version of a smile, turning towards the door.

“Goodbye!” They both manage, watching as she pulls the door open.

“Oh!” She turns back, “And Mister Anderson, I do hope you find somewhere you can live without your father’s shadow, one day.”

“What?”

“Goodbye,” she punctuates as she finally steps out of the room and closes the door.

The both of them stand in the middle of the room, not quite knowing what hit them. Kurt’s body is just now catching up with the whole thing and it’s making a quick transition from floored into complete and utter overdrive. He can’t stop himself from squealing and jumping in his spot. Next to him, Blaine is still standing still, hands on his cheeks and eyes too wide.

“We did it!” Kurt grins, grabbing Blaine’s shoulders and shaking him, “We did it!”

“I can’t believe it!” Blaine laughs, finally letting his hands fall and pulling Kurt into a tight hug, “I can’t believe she said yes!” His voice is muffled against Kurt’s shoulder, but his hands cling tight still.

“She did! She did!” Kurt squeals and pulls back enough that they can grin at each other. It’s probably one of those moments when they could’ve easily kissed, not thinking about the full scope of things, making a spur of the moment decision and just going with their gut, but instead they just laugh and hold each other very, very tight, until one of the guards clears his throat and tells them he can walk them out, whenever they’re ready.

 


	13. Red Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since the last time I professed my love for notthetoothfairy, my beloved beta! I'm so thankful she agreed to do this!

They try to reign in their excitement as they walk slightly behind the tall, burly guard. But as soon as they’ve crossed the front gates, and are somewhat out of sight, they resume their celebrating. It’s probably something like half an hour until they manage to start walking again. Feeling a little breathless and definitely light-headed, Kurt can’t help taking Blaine’s hand into his as they walk side by side. It feels better than anything, to be connected like that, and their fingers are strong in their grip of each other.

Blaine looks at Kurt, who smiles, wide, happy and carefree, and squeezes reassuringly – it doesn’t have to mean anything else besides what it is.

“They’ll go insane when we tell them!” Kurt laughs.

“We need to go somewhere, first,” Blaine informs him in a light tone, and then cringes and adds, “Would you hate me if we went via portal? It’s on the outskirts of town and it would take at least two hours to get there…?”

“I could never hate you,” Kurt rolls his eyes, and stopping mid-action as he realizes a little too late the full weight of his words. He almost wants to cringe or look away, but in all honesty, the words are nothing but the truth and maybe they should just stick to it.

Blaine gives him one of those smiles, so warm and so bright that it could melt ice.

“So, huh, yeah, it’s fine. We can take a portal.” Kurt’s cheeks are flushing, accompanied by a funny feeling in his whole body – maybe the butterflies that were supposed to be in his stomach have migrated everywhere, since, you know, it’s Blaine making him feel this way, and it’d be impossible to just keep them in the stomach. Although, after the way this morning just started, everything leaves him a little giddy, and maybe just flat-out happy.

“Wonderful!” Blaine laughs, “Let’s get to it!”

He takes them to a more isolated street before he wraps his arms tightly around Kurt and gold light takes over them. Before he even has the chance to notice it, the nasty feeling and the gold light is gone, and for the first time Kurt doesn’t need to throw up – he’s barely queasy. They’re in front of a small house, with tall walls and beautiful trees all around it. The front gate is covered with flowery ivy. It’s the sort of house you can’t help smiling or cooing at.

“Where are we?”

“Beth!” Blaine grins, before he sets forwards, towards the gate practically running.

“Who?” Kurt jogs after him, but Blaine’s already pushing the gate open and calling out for someone who isn’t _Beth_.

“Shelby!” he calls, “Shelby!”

A woman opens the front door. She’s tall, and beautiful, with the smooth edges to her figure accentuated rather than hidden by her bright golden dress. Her chocolate brown hair is flowing freely and long around her face and shoulders, and her matching eyes are wide and excited, “Blaine, is that you?”

“Yes!” he smiles, and crosses the distance between front gate and front door to envelop her in a hug, “Hi!” he breathes excitedly into her shoulder.

“Hello!” she squeezes him tightly as well, before she pulls back and observes him, “You look well.”

“Thank you. So do you – You look gorgeous. I’d say motherhood suits you,” he offers in that gallant tone of his that would leave anyone blushing and weak at knees.

She does grin and wave the compliment away dismissively, “Oh shush, I barely have time for myself. Please, come in.”

“Oh! Shelby, wait!” Blaine reaches back, taking Kurt’s hand and pulling him to stand next to himself, “I’d love you to meet Kurt.”

“Kurt?” She smiles politely and maybe even a little teasing at their joint hands, until her eyes lock on Kurt’s and suddenly her eyebrows shoot up into the sky and she gasps, “Oh!”

Next to Kurt, Blaine is grinning like this is the funniest thing ever. Kurt wants to slap him over the shoulder, and then maybe kiss him. He does neither. He sticks his hand out and says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Shelby…?”

“Yes, yes, Shelby.” She nods and takes his hand, shaking it with a strong grip, “I can hardly believe my eyes.”

“That’s what they all say about _my_ eyes,” he shoots back, and Shelby cracks a grin and chuckles softly.

“Well, then, come on in. I’m not in the business of keeping future kings standing outside.” She ushers them in and Kurt can’t help feeling a little stab at knowing he is anything but a future king, reminded once more of the people he’ll be letting down when he decides to go away.

The house is just as small as it looks from the outside. The living room is adorable but a little cramped – the kitchen on one side of it, while two smallish couches are pushed up against the farthest walls, and a two-person table is squished in the middle of it all.

There are only three more doors. He’d imagine one would lead to the toilet, while the other two would be bedrooms, but he doesn’t ask for a tour and he isn’t offered one.

“I’ll put the kettle on…?” Shelby asks.

Kurt and Blaine exchange a glance before Blaine says, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Peppermint okay for you? I always find it the perfect balance between fresh and sweet.” She smirks, and Blaine blushes slightly as he nods. Shelby laughs heartily and picks up a small jar from a cupboard. “She’s in the bedroom. You can go get her – middle door. She should be eating her midmorning snack soon, anyways.”

With that Blaine disappears into the appointed door, and Kurt is left alone, awkwardly standing in the adorable living room. He’s still wrecking his brain for something to say when Blaine reappears – the most adorable little baby in his arms, and Kurt’s brain all but vanishes.

There’s something to be said about attractive men holding happy, adorable, little babies. It’s probably the most attractive thing one could ever behold. Even someone like Kurt, who’s never really understood all the hype around the little buggers, and always preferred to hang out with fully formed humans instead of miniature, pseudo-people, can’t deny the fact that it’s taking his breath away to see Blaine’s smile as he coos down at the little girl making grabby hands at his hair and giggling uncontrollably.

“She’s so adorable!” Blaine breathes to Shelby before turning back towards the little girl.

Just as the wheels in Kurt’s brain start turning, Shelby nods and says, “Yes, I think she’s turning out to be Quinn’s spitting image.”

Blaine nods, but doesn’t take his eyes away, letting the small girl tug at his curls, “I wish they could be here to see her.”

“Why aren’t they?” Shelby asks, as they finally sit down on the comfortable couches, “I wouldn’t mind it, you know? I’d love for them to see her.”

“We know. But we can’t exactly just come here – you know how risky international portals can be.” He shrugs, “But I think I’ll try to talk Will into letting them come on her birthday. They were really down about missing her first one, you know?”

“Yes…” Shelby nods sadly, “So I take it you two didn’t just drop by for a quick visit with me, then.”

“No, definitely not. You can probably guess who, but I can’t tell you details…”

“Of course not. It’s better if I don’t know it, anyway. I’d worry myself sick if I knew everything you kids were up to over there.”

Beth’s interest has strayed from Blaine’s hair to Kurt in general. She’s staring intently at him and it’s only a matter of seconds before she starts reaching out for him. With a chuckle, Blaine lets her slide easily from his hands and keeps one on her back as she makes her way towards Kurt, sitting on the other couch. He picks her up gingerly and tries not to freak out as she splays her open hand on his nose and squeezes it with a hearty laugh that everyone else shares.

“Hello,” he tells her, with a nervous smile.

“’I.” She grins widely, and then settles on his lap and looks at the other two adults as if giving them permission to resume their conversation.

Blaine gives her another one of his easy smiles, before he turns back to Shelby and takes something out of his pocket, “Anyway, Quinn asked me to bring something for her. She’s… She asked me to tell you that she’d understand if you wanted to get her another one… She... She realizes she’s not actually Beth’s mother, but, you know, she still loves Beth.”

“Of course…”

“Anyway.” Blaine clears his throat, and opens his hand reaching it out towards Shelby. Kurt can only make out what appears to be a silver chain pooling in his palm, “She did it by herself, and asked me to finish it, so… it’s a good one, you know. I promise.”

“Oh!” Shelby gasps, slowly picking it up. Kurt can now see the small charm dangling off the smooth chain. It’s a beautiful daisy, its petals a pearly white that might actually be pearl. It catches the light wonderfully, and Kurt’s eye is immediately drawn to its very middle, where the most clear cut diamond Kurt has ever seen lies, “It’s so lovely.”

The design itself looks simple, to the point of minimalism, but everything about it is perfectly finished and polished, in a way that Kurt would have never believed was handmade.

“I think it’s perfect.” Shelby smiles.

“Really?” Blaine gasps, just as Beth decides she’s had enough of Kurt’s lap, and starts squirming to get off, so Kurt lets her go. She goes straight towards the necklace hanging off Shelby’s hand. The little girl looks a little mesmerized by it, as it dangles in front of her eyes.

“I’ll wait until she’s thirteen to give it to her, but I’ll be sure to tell her who made it.” Shelby’s eyes are warm as she speaks, “Or maybe, Quinn and Puck will be able to give it themselves. I hope they will.”

“I hope so, too.”

“And thank you, Blaine, for bringing it to me,” Shelby adds, “And for the stone.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans over to wrap a hand around her.

Just then, the kettle starts whistling and Shelby draws a long breath and smiles as she pushes herself out of the couch. Kurt watches Blaine as he watches Shelby move around the kitchen, Beth trailing after her on wobbly, chubby legs.

When she trips over herself and crashes to the ground Blaine shoots out of his seat to grab her. She doesn’t even flinch, just adjust to his grip and snuggles in.

“So, Blaine, tell me all the news,” Shelby prompts as she returns with the tea, and Blaine gives her an amused chuckle before declaring they’d be stuck inside if he did just that, although agreeing to give her a brief and very edited overview.

They don’t stay long – just an hour or so, as they sip their teas and Blaine carefully fills Shelby in on the events at the Inn. He glosses over many details, and leaves out a lot of key information, and Kurt doesn’t even need to ask why.

As they talk, Beth moves easily between the three of them, focusing more on the guests, of course, and proving herself to be a curious little beastie. The necklace, though, has been pocketed by Shelby, and is not even so much as mentioned again.

When they finally leave, Blaine holds Beth very tightly and kisses her multiple times on her chubby cheeks, prompting her to laugh and squeal with all the might of her powerful little lungs. Kurt can’t bring himself to be quite so familiar with her, but he does give her a thorough kiss goodbye and tells her she’s a fine young lady. Shelby gives them both tight hugs, and says she wishes they could visit more often.

When they’re out of the front gate, closing it behind themselves, Kurt feels considerably tired, even though it’s barely midday.

“Please, tell me we’re going home, now,” he asks Blaine.

Blaine falters for a second, looking surprised, though Kurt doesn’t know at what, before he nods and says, “Yeah, yeah. Sure, let’s go _home_.”

Kurt feels his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he laces their fingers together and steps closer, bracing himself for the portal. Blaine’s fingers scrape the nape of Kurt’s neck as he holds him tight, and there’s a definite pause before the gold light envelops them. In a heartbeat, they’re back at the hilltop staring down at the white, luminous city.

“You ready?” Blaine pulls back enough so he can look Kurt in the eye, “I won’t be able to pause between portals, this time.”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

Blaine smirks, “Don’t you dare puke on me. Hold it in until we’re at the Inn.”

“Shut up.” Kurt shoves at him, before he allows Blaine to pull him back in, and buries his nose in those curls that Beth was so fond of – he can definitely understand the appeal.

The gold light envelops them, but this time it definitely comes accompanied by that now familiar horrible feeling, and Kurt knows he’ll definitely be sick again. As they pause only for a few seconds in the middle of secluded woods, Blaine gives him a questioning look and Kurt nods, “Go.”

He endures it again, but as soon as his feet hit solid ground he wrenches himself off of Blaine and empties the content of his stomach. He counts the fact that he manages to stay on his feet, instead of collapsing like last time, a victory. Blaine holds his forehead again and rubs his back as he pukes, but this time it’s over quicker and he manages to get himself together before it verges on ridiculous – thankful that he had peppermint tea and not something with a stronger taste. With a deep breath, he straightens his back and says “Alright. Point me to a toothbrush”, to which Blaine laughs and they start back towards the Inn, a few yards away.

As they open the door and step inside, the few people in the living room immediately freeze and stare at them expectantly.

After a beat of silence, Blaine seems to regain power of speech and grins. “We got it!” he announces, “She’ll helps us.”

“What?!” Puck hops off the couch, just as everyone starts to register Blaine’s words.

“She agreed to everything! She’ll even give us men to break into the castle!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Pucks grins.

“Right on!” Sam gathers Blaine up in his massive arms and hoists him easily, to which Blaine is laughing as he struggles against the embrace.

Rachel and Finn are also scrambling out of their seats, and Kurt is tackled by the both of them before he can even blink. While he might be used to Rachel’s enthusiastic hugs and the way she actually fits quite nicely into his arms, it feels epically strange to have Finn’s body around his in its entire enormity. It’s not necessarily a bad feeling, though, and Kurt finds himself hugging them both back easily.

As they pull back, Kurt notices everyone else hurrying to the living room, wondering what the big commotion is about. This time, he beats Blaine to the punch and grins widely as he announces, “Carmen said yes! She said yes! She’ll help us!”

Quinn looks torn between smugness and excitement, as she walks over and hugs them both. “I knew you could do it!” Her smile reminds Kurt of Beth’s and he feels a little pang for Quinn. He holds her that extra bit tighter.

Behind her, Kurt can still see Santana looking over, arms crossed over her chest and a small smile playing at her lips. She doesn’t move from where she’s leaning against the doorway, but she says, “Congrats.” Her eyes only flicker briefly towards Blaine, before she slides back into the corridor and disappears.

Will, on the other hand, has the strangest reaction – he actually looks confused. He’s standing there, at the foot of the stairs that head up to his office, completely still and staring at the two of them like they just announced… well… something only a little bit good, but altogether mindboggling.

A whisper in his ear brings Kurt back to reality as Quinn informs him, “Ignore him – he’s just jealous you two managed to do what he never did.”

“Oh…”

“He’ll get over it.” She shrugs, “He always does.”

Kurt gives her a relieved smile, but before he can say anything else, Tina has her arms around him, and his attention is pulled back to celebrating. Soon enough, they’re happily eating lunch, everyone listening with rapt attention as Kurt and Blaine tell them everything in a blow-by-blow account.

Puck and Finn look especially amused by the way Kurt stood up to Carmen and they happily call him ‘my man’ and things of the sort. It’s a strange feeling, to be so included and so accepted by ‘the guys’. It’s a feeling Kurt knows won’t last beyond this house, in all probability, but he thinks it might be enough to have been so easily accepted for once in his life – no questions asked, no requests for change. At least, at this very moment he’s happy and he’s not willing to worry about the future just now.

Besides, the way Blaine keeps gushing about Kurt, he’s having a hard time worrying about anything other than how red his face looks. He keeps jabbing Blaine with his elbow, but Blaine just grins mischievously at him and goes back to it. He tries giving as good as he’s getting, but the plan backfires spectacularly as everyone starts smirking and teasing _them_ with meaningful winks. Granted, Blaine’s cheeks do go a deep shade of red, too, but that in no way alleviates Kurt’s – quite the opposite.

That afternoon they ponder the idea of taking the rest of the day off – but they quickly decide against it. The thrill of having such a break-through eggs them on and makes them anxious for more. Blaine is yanked off to the conference room, and Kurt barely manages to follow. Instead they’re talked through the latest, perfected and detailed plan to break into the Branc Camp, guaranteeing the most amount of material damage, the least amount of casualties expected, and the easiest route to get the prisoners to safety.

“I want to go,” Kurt says.

“What? No,” Tina is quick to say, “You can’t, you could get hurt.”

“Please, all of you could get hurt. Besides, the prophecy says I’ll fly again, or whatever –clearly it’s not my fate to die on some camp now, is it?”

“That’s… that’s not how prophecies work, Kurt,” Tina replies, but clearly, she’s doubtful and thrown for a loop.

“He should go,” Blaine says, surprising everyone at the table, most of all Kurt, who turns to stare at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw, “If he wants to go, he should. I mean, if the prisoners are going to trust anyone, it’s him, right?” Blaine shrugs, trying to pass it off as no big deal, “He can keep up with me through the whole thing, and I’ll guarantee his safety.”

“You nearly got yourself killed, last time,” Santana points out from her mostly isolated seat on the table.

“That’s because I wasn’t keeping up with him,” Kurt bites back, letting acid drench his voice. He might not have any business meddling in their relationship, but he’ll be dammed if he lets her talk down to Blaine like that.

A stiff silence takes over the room, as people exchange uncomfortable glances and look for something else to say. Blaine rolls his eyes and sighs, “ _Anyway_ , I think it’s time we start letting Kurt make his own decisions and stop treating him like some sort of puppet in the middle of our master plan. He’s proved time and time again that’s he’s got valuable contributions to give. This is his life, too, so… if he wants in, he should come.”

Kurt keeps his face in check, only smiling a little; still, under the table, he takes Blaine’s hand into his own and laces their fingers together. Like Kurt, Blaine keeps his reaction private, squeezing tight and pulling their hands closer to his body.

Santana’s back to her stony silence, and if she has an opinion, clearly she’s not looking to share it with the rest of them. But Tina, Mike, Finn and Rachel look apprehensive, and struggle to argue back without making it sound like they’re trying to take away Kurt’s choice. In the end, it’s decided that they’ll talk about it again, include Will in the discussion, and leave it at that for the day.

Afterwards, it’s Quinn filling them in on the advances she’s made with her “diversion” tactic idea. She’s working with Puck, Sam and Artie, in deciding the best strategic points, and coming up with ideas for everything. Sam and Puck are dealing with the distraction part of the plan, while Quinn and Artie focus on breaking into the castle – it is decided, for obvious reasons, that Blaine will start helping them with the latter, at once.

After dinner, though, the celebratory mood returns and Puck and Quinn go so far as to start mixing up drinks for everyone. Some of them Kurt can’t even smell before grimacing, and others he thinks might be a little _too_ good. He keeps himself in check, though. His feelings for Blaine are still too unresolved to risk doing something stupid.

Blaine doesn’t seem to have the same concern, clearly. He’s hugging everyone in sight, with pink cheeks and bright eyes. He hugs Kurt, of course, several times, in fact. But apparently he’s only drunk enough to be overtly happy and affectionate, not downright slutty or, god forbid, _talkative_.

Kurt might have just melted with shame if Blaine had started blabbing about their feelings for each other where everyone could hear him. Instead, he easily makes his way from person to person, marveling at how wonderful a day it had been, and telling people they are _awesome_. It’s not like he’s the most ridiculous person in the room, not by a long shot. He wouldn’t even make it to the top5.

Kurt watches from afar as Blaine peels himself away from Rachel, both of them giggling uncontrollably (Rachel, for instance, would make it to the top5), and stumbles onto the next person – Santana. Like Kurt, the few people that notice this go instantly quiet. But to their surprise, either Blaine isn’t as drunk as he seems, or the sight of Santana serves as quite the sobering factor, because Blaine doesn’t even so much as flinch as he bypasses her and goes straight to Sam, hopping on his back and announces himself a knight. Kurt smiles and feels a little proud.

He looks back to Santana to find her scoffing and rolling her eyes as she sips her bright red drink. She’s such a cliché.

He tells her just that, when their eyes meet across the room and she mouths _What?_ looking positively venomous. In response, she stares back and sighs, long and fake-suffering, before she turns her back on everyone and leaves towards the bedrooms. The planned attack to Camp Branc is in a couple of days, and he wonders if she’ll get a grip until then – it certainly wouldn’t be smart to go into it with hard feelings between them.

While it’s true that she seems to be directing her rage at Blaine and Kurt only, Kurt’s still not convinced it’s a good idea to give her a big part in the camp assault. If she’s not partnered with either of them during the assault, it might be fine, but she’s been on edge for a while now and shows no signs of calming down. He wants to just shake her a little and tell her to get a grip. Which in turns makes him feel a little guilty because he knows she’s going through something gut wrenchingly horrible… but still.

If anything were to happen to either Blaine or Santana and they hadn’t gotten a chance to make up, the other would probably regret it for the rest of their lives. And in the meantime, she’s just making it harder on herself and everybody else.

While Kurt’s no stranger to pain and loss and he truly feels for her, maybe it’s time for her to stop making enemies out of her friends and treating them like garbage every time she’s got a problem, no matter how huge it is.

He’s yanked out of his thoughts when Quinn thrusts a long, thin glass of a light green drink – it’s minty and sweet, very much delicious – and says as way of greeting, “So you’ve met Beth.”

“Oh!” he gasps, and immediately smiles, “I have! Quinn, she’s beautiful, she’s so beautiful.”

“I know…” she smiles wistfully, “I wish I could’ve been there to see her, too.”

“Maybe you could be there for her birthday? That’s what Blaine said.”

“Yeah, we’re hoping for that.” She nods, “If things go right we’ll be able to be there for it, but we might not. We missed the first already so…”

“Right…”

“She’s better off with Shelby, anyway. We were too young.” Quinn shrugs, though she’s clearly downplaying things.

“That was a beautiful necklace you gave her,” he offers, because it seems like the kind of thing one should say at a time like this.

She seems pleasantly surprised at that before she adds, “Thanks. I wanted to hold off until her thirteenth birthday, but, you know, I also wanted to make sure she got it.”

“Why thirteen?” It seemed more like the kind of necklace a sixteen year old, or even an adult would like – its subtlety maybe a little too much for such a young girl to appreciate.

“Because that’s the traditional age to receive soul necklaces?” Quinn offers with a squint. Kurt just frowns a little deeper and shakes his head. “ _Oh_! You didn’t have those?” she says it like she’s sorry for him.

“What _are_ those?”

“Soul necklaces?” she asks and he nods, “Well, there’s a couple more things but mostly they’re used for marriage. You give your soul necklace to your partner when you get engaged, and then, in the ceremony, an enchanter will bound them. You exchange them back, but the diamond will become red, and you wear it to signify your commitment, you know?”

“Oh… like wedding rings?”

“You guys wear rings?” She crinkles her nose.

“Yeah… gold bands. Usually they’re really simple. But we only buy them when it’s actually time to get married, so… Oh, yeah! And, the guy buys the girl an engagement ring, too, for when he proposes. And that one’s supposed to be a big deal, with a diamond and everything.”

“What if it’s two guys? Or two girls?”

“I guess… whoever proposes first buys the ring…” Kurt shrugs, never having actually thought about it, because he never allowed himself to daydream that specifically. “And nowadays things are less traditional anyways – there are plenty of women proposing, and stuff.”

“Oh, okay,” she nods carefully. “I think I still like our necklaces better, though. Usually they’re custom made by a wizard, but really only the stone needs to be put there by the wizard.”

“Are all of them flowers?”

“No…” She shrugs, “True, a lot of people go for that, you know, it’s supposed to be small, simple and beautiful, so what’s more beautiful than your favorite flower? Mine’s a small bouquet of flowers, actually. It’s gorgeous,” she says, fishing it out of her dress and showing it to Kurt. It is, in fact, very pretty and incredibly suited to Quinn, “I couldn’t decide on a favorite flower, so I have all of them!” She chuckles in spite of herself. “I made Beth’s a daisy, because I hope her life will have the simple grace of one. They always seemed like they were such happy flowers to me.” She tucks the necklace back into her dress, and smiles a little sadly.

“So, everyone has one of those?”

She shakes her head, “Not anymore. When they started hunting down enchanters, they banned soul necklaces. It’s become somewhat of a symbol of opposition to the regime. We can’t wear them in public.” She twists her lips, “Marriages now are just… signatures on a piece of paper. It takes all the magic out of it.”

Kurt refrains from commenting on that and instead smirks and asks, “You and Puck waiting for the magic to be back?”

She laughs, “No, we’re just… taking our time. Like I said, we’re still young.”

“But he’s the one?”

“He’s the one,” she nods back with an easy smile. “I’m just not particularly eager to wear his soul necklace, the thing is downright stupid.”

“It’s not a gun, is it?” Kurt cringes, and she laughs.

“No, thank goodness. It’s a fist, so it’s not _that_ stupid.”

“So, who has the stupidest soul necklace in the house?” Kurt stage whispers, turning back to observe the full fledged party still going on around them

“Oh… let me think…” she sighs, eyes jumping from one person to the next, squinting in concentration, “Personally, I despise Rachel’s golden star – it’s so… pedestrian. But, I’d have to say the worst one is Artie’s. It’s a book. I mean, how boring can you get, right?” she shakes her head somberly, before she adds, “Of course, one must take into account he was thirteen and his parents let him choose it. Big mistake.”

“Oh god, now I want to know what everyone’s soul necklaces are!” Mostly, he wants to know Blaine’s.

Quinn gives him a one-shoulder shrug, “Ask them.” And then she pauses, smirks, and adds, “Ask him.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s not what I meant.”

She gives him a knowing smile before she downs the rest of her drink. “Oooh! Music!” she gasps and Kurt turns around to see Sam coming into the room brandishing something that looks only slightly different from a guitar.

The energy is amped up at once, as everyone hollers and claps at the arrival of the instrument, which Sam immediately starts playing. It sounds deeper and sweeter than a guitar, but Kurt’s hard pressed to consider it anything else. ~~~~

Tina and Mercedes come over, giggling and holding onto each other for support. Kurt notices the silver chains around their necks, charms disappearing into their cleavages. He doesn’t ask to see them, but he commits it to memory. Instead, he accepts their embrace and joins in their giggling over how cute Sam is when he’s drunk.

“You know he likes you, too, don’t you?” Kurt tells Mercedes with the kind of teasing smirk he’s received from everyone.

She sighs deeply and dramatically, “Yes, yes, I know! The boy isn’t exactly subtle, no.” She laughs, just as Sam starts singing. Kurt has to strain a little to catch the words – the rhythm feels so foreign, like no music Kurt’s ever heard – but it’s definitely a love song, and he’s glancing up at Mercedes every ten seconds. Tina’s cackling by the time Sam’s on the fourth verse, and Kurt just keeps on smiling and trying not to judge, while Mercedes suddenly takes on a much less giddy expression, frowning and sighing, “But it’s like… what happens if he gets hurt? What happens when this is over and he gets to be outside of this house… when he gets to see other girls? What happens… I don’t know. He’s cute.” She scrunches up her face, looking like she’s just tasted a particularly sour lemon, “He’s _so_ cute.”

“You know what?!” Tina interrupts, looking mighty serious for someone who’d just practically peed herself laughing, “Kurt is right. You shouldn’t worry about it now. You should be living in the moment, you know? One day at a time! Who knows what tomorrow will bring!” She’s barely keeping her voice within decent levels, that’s how passionate she is about her words, which is why Kurt doesn’t bother telling her that he was hardly giving any advice at all, let alone that one, “All I know, is that I would regret every day I hadn’t spent loving Mike while I could, y’know?” her eyes are bulging, and her words are slurred, but hitting a little too close to home for Kurt, “And by loving, I mean making out. Excuse me!”

She waves herself goodbye and disappears off to wherever Mike might be, leaving both Kurt and Mercedes staring after her. As she is considerably drunker than Kurt (who is not drunk at all), it takes only approximately ten seconds before Mercedes is bending over with laughter.

All the while, Kurt can’t seem to find anything about this situation funny.

A second voice joins Sam’s, and Kurt’s stomach clenches as he recognizes it instantly – even singing and sounding a thousand times sweeter, like melted chocolate on caramel.

Of course. Of course he sings. Like a dream.

Kurt lets his body lean against the wall as he simply watches. He watches as the group flows seamlessly through songs he’s never heard, even though some sound as if they’re from a distant dream he might have had years ago. It makes him miss his mom. But it also makes him happy, because there’s music surrounding him – it’s not just in his head anymore, as he tries to keep his own memories alive. This is real, this is shared. And it’s so beautiful.

He can’t sing along, of course, but he takes a seat, next to Rachel (who has one the most beautiful voices Kurt’s ever heard), and watches them, content to bask in their unity and joy.

“Your music is so beautiful,” he says, when there’s a rare lull in the melody, “I’ve never heard anything like it, but it feels like I could listen to this forever.”

There are pleased smiles all around, and some whoops and high fives, so he adds, “And I mean, what the fuck, you’re all super talented, how is that even statistically possible?”

This time his comment is received with a burst of laughter. “I don’t know, some of them are just average,” Rachel points out, earning herself a few glares, and some more laughter.

“No, but seriously, you should teach me some of those songs, they’re so wonderful.”

“I’m sure Blaine could do it!” Puck offers with a smirk and a clap over Blaine’s shoulder, who turns beet-red and chokes on nothing at all.

Kurt blushes, too, but manages to roll his eyes, “No, but seriously, the last one, someone teach me the last one.”

For the next hour the group entertains itself teaching Kurt whatever song he requests, giving him the lyrics on napkins and whatever other papers they find lying around, as well as singing the melodies to him. He refuses to give it a try himself, quoting that he’d just murder the artistic integrity of those songs, but he’s flushed and happy to just listen to them and let them tease him about it.

It’s Finn who finally remembers that Kurt wants to be a singer, “Hey! Dude, no fair! We sing, you have to do it, too! You want to be a singer and all, you told us! If you’re going to leave us for that, at least we deserve to know if you’re any good.” He pulls Kurt to his feet, “If you don’t wanna do our songs, do yours. Introduce us to the song of your people.”

Kurt chokes on his answer – the fact of his return home and abandonment of them mentioned so casually throws him off a little, “I… Well, I guess. I could. Show you the song of my people,” he finishes with a cringe at the expression, “But… Oh, fuck, they’re just so many. Let me think…”

“Something _really_ good.”

“Okay, okay…” he smiles, the edge of mirth warming his chest a little. “I got one. Now, keep in mind that it was written by a lovely woman named Fergie,” he says before he holds his hand up, calling for complete silence. He signals, one, two, three.

_Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco,_

_They want my treasure so they get their pleasures from my photo._

_You can see me, you can't squeeze me._

_I ain't easy, I ain't sleazy._

_I got reasons why I tease 'em._

_Boys just come and go like seasons._

_Fergalicious_

He wants to burst out laughing as every face around him suddenly freezes, clearly extraordinarily confused. Instead, he pushes through the verses with the certainty and rhythm that Fergie herself would envy.

_But I ain't promiscuous._

_And if you were suspicious,_

_All that shit is fictitious._

_I blow kisses_

_That puts them boys on rock, rock._

_And they be lining down the block just to watch what I got_

Kurt almost loses it as he notices how Blaine’s frozen smile is slowly giving way to speechless bewilderment. He’s gradually crossing his arms over his chest and bringing his hand up to cover his mouth.

_So delicious – it's hot, hot_

_So delicious – I put them boys on rock, rock_

_So delicious – they wanna slice of what I got_

_I'm Fergalicious – t-t-t-t-t-tasty, tasty_

Getting through half the song is hard enough, so Kurt jumps through to his favorite part before he completely loses it.

_All the time I turn around brother's gather round always looking at me up and down looking at my (uh)/ I just wanna say it now - I ain't trying to round up drama, little mama I don't wanna take your man./ And I know I'm coming off just a little bit conceited and I keep on repeating how the boys wanna eat it./ But I'm tryin' to tell, that I can't be treated like clientele_

_'Cause they say she... Delicious!_

He finishes with the best gangsta pose he can strike, and juts his chin up at his crowd for about two seconds of complete and utter silence, before he bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you just… you should see your faces,” he pants through his tears, “Priceless.”

“What was that?” Rachel’s nose is wrinkled in clear distaste; always trust Rachel to be honest.

Kurt allows himself another stretch of laughing before he takes a deep breath, “I just needed to try that, I’m sorry. This is a classic back home, but it’s so not the type of thing I sing and it’s hardly considered something “really good”. I just wanted to scare you guys a little bit.”

“Oh.” Pucks tilts his head, squinting a little I Kurt, “Really? Cuz I kinda liked it.”

“I mean, some people can sing it and make it sound a thousand times better, but I’m not one of those.”

“Okay, so sing something else,” Quinn prompts. “Something you’re good at singing.”

“I dunno… I… There are too many songs, and I don’t have the music to accompany and-”

“If you’re any good, you’ll be able to sing it without the instruments,” Rachel points out with a small shrug and Kurt has a fleeting thought of punching her in the arm.

“Yes, but-”

“Sing the last song you listened to before you crossed the portal,” Blaine prompts with a smirk, knowing there’s no way Kurt can get out of such a specific request.

“The last, okay, let me just…” He pauses to try to remember what the last song he listened to was. He knows he was listening to the Wicked soundtrack because he was feeling sad and that always helped him feel a little better, and he considers Defying Gravity before he remembers that was the first one on the playlist, and then – “ _Oh_ …” he gasps as he realizes it.

“So?” Finn gestures for him to go on. ~~~~

With all these eyes on him Kurt can’t make his brain think of any other song (it’s not like they’d know) and instead stutters through the first verse, only to stop, hold out his hand, clear his throat and restart. This time, despite the redness in his cheeks or the strain in his heart, his voice is clear and runs free and smooth, like fresh water through his throat.

_Kiss me too fiercely, Hold me too tight_

_I need help believing, You're with me tonight_

_My wildest dreamings, Could not foresee_

_Lying beside you, With you wanting me_

This time, too, the room falls silent, but no one is confused or amused. Instead they seem to be hanging off of every note and every word. Smiles disappear out of wonder, and they reappear for the exact same reason. Kurt tries and fails to avoid looking at Blaine. He’s looking back with wide eyes, biting his lip as his cheeks color slightly. If Blaine has any doubts what the song means to him right now, Kurt knows he’s about to lose them. He keeps his voice soft, and quiet, but filled with eager, building energy – the same way he lets his thoughts, his feelings and his fears start coloring his mind and his voice, one by one.

_And just for this moment, as long as you're mine_

_I’ve lost all resistance, and crossed some borderline_

_And if it turns out, it's over too fast_

_I’ll make every last moment last, as long as you're mine..._

He can’t make himself look away from Blaine, when doing so would feel like betraying them both and the song. The truth is, this house is filled with people loving each other despite the fact that at any moment everything could fall apart. Granted, Kurt and Blaine have a _guarantee_ that everything will fall apart, but still… what’s that saying? Something about regretting only the things you didn’t do.

_Maybe I’m brainless, maybe I’m wise_

_But you've got me seeing, through different eyes_

_Somehow I’ve fallen, under your spell_

_And somehow I’m feeling, It's "up" that I fell..._

Between the hand holding, the open honesty about their feelings, the way they helplessly gravitate towards each other, and how it feels like they can truly make each other feel better, peaceful, and happy… The truth is, they’re already acting like they’re together. The feelings are there, and they’re not going to disappear just because they’re not acting on them.

_Every moment, as long as you're mine_

_I'll wake up my body, and make up for lost time_

_Say there's no future for us as a pair_

_And though I may know, I don't care_

And what exactly does it mean to _act_ on feelings? Is it just the kissing? Or having sex? Because, from where he’s standing, Kurt can’t help feeling like everything he does, when it comes to Blaine, is _act_ on his feelings.

_Just for this moment, as long as you're mine_

_Come be how you want to, and see how bright we shine_

_Borrow the moonlight, until it is through_

_And know I’ll be here holding you_

_As long as you're mine_

Kurt lets himself belt out the last note, voice keeping the turmoil of emotions inside of him both safely guarded, and completely exposed.

As he finishes and draws a shuddering breath he can’t help admitting to himself the scariest truth. The separation will be horrible and painful, regardless of whether Kurt gives into his feelings or not.

He holds Blaine’s eyes for a second more, before he can’t bear it anymore, and closes them.

There’s silence as everyone very clearly digests not only Kurt’s talent, but also a song that was so clearly prophetic. As he lets himself look around, he catches an embarrassing amount of worried glances between himself and Blaine, and he wishes they didn’t know exactly what was going on between them. It makes this feel bigger, somehow, and it feels worse.

He plasters on a fake smile and takes a short bow before clearing his throat and saying “So, yeah, last song I listened to, back home.” God. Home… what even is that?

There’s a thunderous bout of applause all of a sudden, and a shower of compliments as everyone rushes to overcome their momentary speechlessness.

He smiles back to everyone, and engages in a couple of small, easy conversations. He knows Blaine’s leaving the room, but he can’t bring himself to look as the door closes behind him.

When he thinks it won’t be pathetic, he finally excuses himself to bed. He knows, as he leaves, that everyone is staring at him with sad, pitying eyes.

He takes a deep, steadying breath as he finds himself in the solitude and silence of his bedroom. He walks _,_ slowly and defeated, to his bed and lets himself drop onto it. He feels tired all over, he feels like his body needs a week’s sleep. And yet, he knows he won’t be able to fall asleep anytime soon. His brain is clearly forcing him to deal with his issues _now_.

After the admissions he made to himself (and so clearly to everyone else, too), it’s impossible to stop them coming, and to feel like he can keep them to himself.

What if something does go wrong with the Branc Camp? Hadn’t Kurt witnessed it first hand how easily those things could go very horribly wrong? What if he never gets the chance to tell Blaine all the things he really, desperately needs him to know? Not through some song, but real words of his own?

What if he never gets the chance to just kiss him?

Finally, he feels like he understands what Blaine meant those few nights ago. The only thing Kurt would regret forever would be _not knowing_ how it felt, being together like that.

He sleeps fitfully. Actually, he barely sleeps. It’s not even the noise in the living room keeping him awake, because that’s long stopped and he’s still staring blankly at the ceiling. No. It’s Blaine. Or lack thereof.

He wants to be with Blaine. He knows that like he knows that water is wet. And he feels like he’s already wasted so much time that any minute he’s spending in this room alone is a crime against humanity. However, the thought of going over to Blaine’s room and waking him up for midnight declarations of love leaves him just as agonized. So, instead, he stays in his bedroom and works on the perfect pre-kiss speech, and the perfect first-kiss scenario, and envisions everything about it.

It’s not dawn yet, when Kurt decides to get himself something to eat, and maybe some warm milk to try and get some sleep.

He pads carefully through the house. Everything is a mess, and there are pillows and stuff everywhere on the floor. He takes it as a big victory that he doesn’t trip over anything, as he finally reaches the kitchen. He goes straight for the bread, and it’s not until he turns around that he nearly has a heart attack at the figure sitting on one of the chairs. “God! Fuck! Shit!” he gasps, letting his breathing slow back down, “Oh god…” he grabs his chest over his frantically beating hear, “Seriously, this has _got_ to stop. You people are creepy!”

The light turns on. Blaine’s smile is feeble. He’s sitting with his legs propped up on the chair and pressed to his torso, arms hugging them tight as he rests his cheek on his knees. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh…” Kurt swallows, putting own the ruined slice of bread, “It’s fine.”

Blaine smiles again, still small, still not reaching his eyes. ~~~~

“You okay?” Kurt asks him.

“Yeah… I guess…”

“Not hung over?” Kurt teases stupidly, feeling his cheeks go red at how silly he feels. He knows there are a thousand more important things he should be saying right now.

“No, of course not. I barely had two drinks. I was just having fun, Kurt.”

“Right, right…” Kurt barely manages, ending with what’s sure to be a grimace instead of a smirk.

Blaine gives him a gentle frown, as he moves his head, resting his chin on his knees, instead. “What about you? Why are you up? Are you having nightmares again?” His voice is soft and concerned.

“No… I, huh… no.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Blaine…?”

“Yes?”

 _Live in the moment, live in the moment… just say it._ “I… I… I, huh, I’m curious about your soul necklace. Do you have one?”

Blaine seems a little surprised at the question, but he smiles and nods.

“What is it?”

“A red rose. It was the first flower that appeared when Cat found me. So, technically it was the first bit of magic I ever made,” he explains.

“That sounds wonderful. I think it suits you,” Kurt declares. “The red rose, I mean. A true classic beauty,” he adds before he can stop himself. He can’t help as his eyes dart to the floor between them at once, or how his arms wrap around himself, too, but he hears as Blaine sucks in a startled breath. ~~~~

“Thank you,” Blaine murmurs, after a long silence.

“Can you show it to me?” ~~~~

“Of course.” Blaine nods, still looking a little breathless, he pulls back from himself a little and fishes the necklace out of his shirt. Kurt walks over as close as he can without starting to shake.

It’s exactly what he would’ve pictured for Blaine. “I love it,” he declares, and Blaine’s smile, however small, reaches his eyes, this time.

Blaine is so beautiful, Kurt notices, not for the first or, hopefully, the last time.

 _This is it,_ Kurt thinks, _this is the moment to do it. Not in the middle of some camp, while we fight bad guys and save innocent people; not right before, filled with fear and apprehension, or right after with the rush of relief making us numb to anything else. Not tomorrow in a carefully orchestrated situation with candle light and too much effort. Right now._

_Right now. Where it’s just the two of us, an empty glass of water, and unguarded hearts._

“Blaine,” he breathes, voice shaky and hands trembling, “About that song…” Blaine glances up, looking eager and apprehensive at the same time. “The thing is… that I’m… so… huh, in love with you.” Blaine’s breath hitches, and Kurt lets his hand find Blaine’s gripping onto his leg so tight it must be hurting. He pries it away and tangles their fingers together, as he bends over. He keeps their eyes connected, asking wordlessly for permission. Blaine’s gaze is absolutely awed, before he surges up closing the distance between them in a sudden movement. They kiss. The built-up tension and energy that had accumulated over the last few days is suddenly releasing itself from every pore of Kurt’s body, and it feels wonderful. He relishes the way that Blaine immediately grabs his shoulder, pulling him closer, or the way those same hands are shaking against Kurt’s body. He adores how Blaine’s hair feels between his own fingers, or how there are goose-bumps on the back of his neck when he skims the tips of his fingers over the sensitive skin. And he absolutely loves the way that Blaine kisses him.

When Kurt pulls back, he presses their foreheads together and murmurs, “I’m in love with you. I want to be with you. Now. I… whatever happens next, we’ll see. We can go one day at a time. And today, I want you.”

“Kurt…” Blaine breathes, and he has that unique way of saying Kurt’s name, that he really does go weak at the knees. He doesn’t say anything else before he stands up, and reaches for a second kiss, which, surprisingly, is just as amazing and thrilling as the first one.

Their entire bodies seem to be magnets for each other, every possible inch pressing together. Blaine’s hands move to Kurt’s waist, holding him strongly – it feels like he’ll never let go. Kurt moves both his hands to cup Blaine’s face, and feels the scrape of his late night scruff against the smoothness of his palm. Blaine’s tongue in Kurt’s mouth tastes of peppermint tea and the thought makes him smile.

The kiss doesn’t end; instead, it turns into a million different kisses, as Blaine moves to trail his lips and his tongue across Kurt’s jawline, one hand coming to bury itself in his hair so he can pull at it gently, in a wordless request for more skin. Kurt’s left breathless just like that, sighing and clinging to Blaine’s shoulder as if for dear life.

“Blaine, Blaine, Blaine…” he mumbles, “That’s – that. Oh my god.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Blaine’s voice is husky and deep as he whispers practically directly into Kurt’s ear.

“Fuck, no,” he groans, “It’s just… oh, oh! It’s just that if you, huh, keep going I’ll… you know.” Kurt huffs, tipping his head completely back and shivering in the pleasure of Blaine’s mouth hungrily working over his tendon.

Blaine doesn’t say anything back, instead, Blaine pulls back to look Kurt in the eye, and whatever he finds seems to be enough, because they’re kissing again at once, and Kurt only hears the sound of the kitchen door shutting close, and the lock clicking into place.

With that, something definitely snaps inside of Kurt, and he gives up being a passive agent in this. He makes sure he gives as good as he gets. If he ever doubted his instinct wasn’t enough to make this smooth, his worries quickly vanish as he realizes the sounds Blaine is making are the clearest map to his pleasure.

They find themselves shuffling for a few feet, until Blaine’s back is pressed against the kitchen counter, and their bodies are weighing upon it, pressed tightly together and moving earnestly, in building rhythm and depth.

It takes a little while until Kurt works up the courage to yank Blaine’s shirt off, to which Blaine’s fast to reply, but once they’re skin to skin, he regrets not doing it sooner.

“Holy…” he mutters as Blaine’s teeth bite on the edge of his jaw, while his hands move down to grab Kurt’s ass over his pants. “I can’t believe this is happening!” he lets out with a breathy laugh.

Blaine pulls back with a bright smile, “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare!” Kurt warns him, his cheeks burning amidst pleasure and giddiness. Blaine laughs at that and presses their lips back together in a fierce kiss. Kurt pulls back suddenly. “Unless you want to…?”

Blaine pauses for a moment, smiling softly before he says, “You think so?” and reminds Kurt of where his hands are, squeezing his ass and pushing their hips closer. Kurt can feel him hard, and he knows Blaine can feel him, too.

“Good point,” he breathes, and lets himself get lost in the feeling of their hips pressing so close together.

Kurt always thought that weak knees were bullshit, but suddenly he very much needs to not be standing up, and it might just be that Blaine’s experiencing something similar, because he doesn’t even need to tug much, before they’re clumsily dropping to the floor. Kurt yelps at the sudden cold of the tiled floor against his bare skin and Blaine laughs. “Sorry, sorry, sorry!” he murmurs into the crook of Kurt’s neck, and at once the cold is warmed up to perfection and Kurt can’t help bursting out laughing at that. “What?” Blaine gasps, pulling back enough to look at Kurt, face flushed and red lips grinning.

“I’m making out with a wizard,” he says, “You have no idea how strange that concept is in my head.”

Blaine bites his lips and chuckles, “Good strange?”

“I’m pretty sure, perfect strange.”

He receives a big grin in response before he’s had enough of talking and pulls Blaine back down to his kiss. Once there’s moist, warm lips making their way down Kurt’s neck, he’s pretty much done for. He throws his head as far back as possible and closes his eyes, burying one hand in Blaine’s curls, and another grasping his warm back, feeling the muscles clench and unclench as they move beneath Kurt’s eager fingers.

When it’s teeth dragging across his skin Kurt can’t even begin to think, before his body moves of its own accord, and he’s pressing himself hard against Blaine. Blaine’s responding groan is muffled by his skin, but nonetheless the sexiest sound Kurt has ever been privy to. He does it again, and again. His rhythm is experimental, but not for long. The more Blaine seems to be losing track of himself in it, the more eager Kurt’s hips become.

“Kurt – I – fuck, Kurt.” Blaine’s voice is low, gravely and husky. It’s like nothing Kurt’s ever heard before, or even so much as felt – the way Blaine’s just burying his face in the crook of his neck, his lips dragging and catching against moistening skin, as he groans, as he tries to speak but can’t articulate his thoughts, “I… we, shit, either we stop now, or…”

“I want to blow you.”

“I – what?” Blaine actually does pull back, stilling their movements, and Kurt’s mind catches up with his words.

“I… I… I wasn’t…. huh…”

“Serious?”

“No. I… I was. I think I was serious. I just wasn’t thinking – for a second there, I just...” Kurt waves a hand in some kind of weird, undecipherable gesture before he lets it fall back low on Blaine’s back, “I do. I, I actually do. Want to, you know… If-if you’d want me to?”

Blaine gives him a soft, fond smile, “I’m not opposed to it, Kurt, but… huh… I’m just… are you _sure_?”

“You don’t have to return the favor.”

Blaine frowns, “It’s not that, it’s… just. You…” He seems to stop himself and takes a deep breath, “If you’re sure, then yes. Absolutely, yes.”

Kurt smiles and pulls Blaine back, kissing him deeply, and going as far as pulling Blaine’s tongue into his mouth, sucking on it – Blaine whimpers.

Carefully, Kurt pushes at Blaine’s shoulders, until they’re rolling around, and Kurt’s left on top, bracing his forearms on either side of Blaine’s head as they continue kissing, much more tongue than they’d dared to use before. Kurt drags his hips back down and presses them over Blaine’s, finding it even easier to set the pace and the right movement from this position. Their breathing becomes increasingly ragged, and they’re barely even kissing when Kurt braces himself and he starts moving his lips southward. Blaine’s legs have fallen open, wrapped around him, and Kurt’s body slides easily between them as, kiss after kiss, he moves closer to his goal.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…!” Blaine mutters, as Kurt’s tongue finds his navel, his head thrown back and his hands digging into Kurt’s shoulders, with nervous anticipation.

Kurt’s hands are trembling noticeably as he moves to unbutton Blaine’s pants, and he knows he needs to stop for a moment, and catch his breath. The moment he does, though, is apparently also the moment his brain seems to collapse and start working at the same time, resulting in the both stupidest and most responsible question he could’ve asked in that moment.

“Do you guys have STD’s?”

“What?” Blaine pants, opening his eyes and frowning at Kurt.

“Sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Oh…” Blaine says, “I guess so.”

“Oh! So, we need to use protection!”

Blaine considers this for a second before he smiles softly and props himself up on his elbows, “I’m a virgin, you know that, right?”

“Oh, yeah… Right, right. I knew that, I… so no diseases then?”

“No.” Blaine chuckles.

Kurt returns his smile, before he swallows, knowing that his cooling-off break his over. He looks back down at where his hands have been resting this whole time, button already halfway through its case. Beneath he can see the outline and shape of Blaine’s cock, very clearly still hard.

“But what about locker rooms and stuff like that?” he asks suddenly.

“What?”

“Never mind.” Kurt laughs nervously before he takes a deep breath and says, “Okay, here goes!” before he yanks the pants open, Blaine’s hand is over his, stopping him.

“Kurt,” he says seriously, “Are you _sure_?”

“I…”

“Come back up, please,” he says carefully, as if testing the waters. Kurt can’t help the relief flooding his body as he climbs back up the beautiful body beneath his, and let’s Blaine hand, buried in his hair, gently pull him down. Blaine kisses him very gently and very safely, “I know it feels like we don’t have time, and I know it feels like it’s all or nothing with us, but… that’s not a good enough reason for you to do something you’re not ready for.” He gives him another long stare, and as his lips settle back into a smile Kurt lets himself sigh.

“Thank you…” he murmurs, “I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t… thinking.”

“Hey, this feels good, I get it. You got lost in the moment, so did I. It’s fine.” As they kiss, he feels Blaine’s hands frame his face tenderly. “What if we did just this?” Blaine mumbles against Kurt’s lips.

“I’d love that.”

Blaine smiles into their kiss, holding Kurt tighter and closer, “Okay then…”

“Okay…”

 

 


	14. Dalton

Dawn is breaking when Blaine finally moves to sit up from where they’re lying side by side on the floor, playing with each other’s hands. He pulls his white undershirt on and smoothens over its wrinkles. Once he’s done, however, he doesn’t move to unlock the door or leave, instead he sits and watches as Kurt reaches for his own shirt and puts it on, as slowly as possible. As he worries the fabric between his fingers, Kurt is both relieved and nervous that Blaine hasn’t left. He doesn’t want tonight to be over or to be alone right now, but he’s also not sure he’s ready for any conversation that Blaine might want to have. Although, it’s probably crucial that they have it. Inevitable, really.

Sure enough, after a few minutes of silence, Blaine’s voice speaks in a gentle tone, “Kurt, what does this mean?”

“I… I told you… One-”

“- day at a time. Yes, I heard. And it’s a lovely sentiment, but… I just, I need something a little more defined than that.”

“Blaine…” Kurt sighs, and drops his head to his hands, “I don’t know what else to say. I told you I love you. What more definition do you need?” He looks up to find Blaine’s soft, kind warm eyes looking back at him.

Blaine drops down to his knees in front of Kurt, taking his hand, and smiles. “I need to know I can tell you I love you back, without you freaking out about what that might mean for my future emotional well-being.”

Kurt’s heart swells at those words and he breathlessly replies, “You can definitely say that.”

Blaine grins, “I love you, too.”

“Oh, god,” Kurt breathes, not quite wrapping his head around having those words said to him – and definitely not by Blaine. He lets himself go willingly as Blaine wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

They lose themselves in it for a couple of minutes before Blaine pulls back, and Kurt can’t help giggling at the wet smack of their lips as they part. Blaine smiles back, and moves his hand to Kurt’s chin holding their eyes level. “I love you,” he says again.

“I could get used to hearing that,” Kurt sighs happily.

“I could get used saying it.”

“And isn’t that just… terrible?” He lets his chin slide out of Blaine’s gentle touch and moves to wrap his arms around Blaine and pulling him into a tight embrace, “The truth is I’m not just scared about hurting you.”

Blaine’s hand cups the back of his head perfectly, like it was made to be there, holding him gently but so, so grounding, make him feel safe, and cherished and connected, “I know, Kurt.”

“What if I get back and then all I do is miss you?”

Blaine pulls back and shrugs, “I don’t know, Kurt.”

“I really hoped you’d know.” Kurt frowns, “You seem so… calm about the whole thing. It feels like… It feels like you’re not even worried...”

Blaine’s eyebrows rise, “You think I’m not scared?”

“No… I… I don’t know, Blaine. Rationally I know you must be at least half as scared as me, but-”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, “I’m terrified. I hate thinking that I’m going to have to let you go. I never expected my first love to be quite this heartbreaking, but I don’t want to think about it while I don’t have to, either. I just... I love you and I want to enjoy whatever time we get together.”

Kurt nods, swallowing emotions that threaten to take over his body, right now. With a shuddering breath, he rolls his eyes and shrugs, “Besides, we’re getting ahead of ourselves, here. Maybe we’ll break up next week and hate each other forever.”

Blaine grins, “Yeah. Who knows, maybe I’ll get blasted off this week at the camp and you’ll get to go home guilt-free.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Kurt glares, punching Blaine’s shoulder, making him laugh and rub the slightly sore spot.

“Maybe we should go to bed, before this starts evolving into an abusive relationship, Kurt,” Blaine says, getting back up, and this time the lock in the door definitely clicks open.

“Relationship?” Kurt gasps, stilling in his movements to stand.

“Breaking up next week definitely implies that there’s something to break up, right?” Blaine says easily, offering Kurt a hand up.

He takes it and lets the two of them stand there chest to chest for a long moment before he nods, “Right.”

Blaine smiles, “I know you said you wanted one day at a time. So, if one day you want us to stop being in a relationship, just say the word. Until then, it’s kind of useless pretending we’re not together.”

Kurt feels his blood rushing through his body, mind reeling and incapable of deciding if this is a good idea. But seeing as they’ve exchanged ‘I love you’s and made out for like an hour or so, it really feels impossible to go backwards. He leans in and tentatively presses their lips together, letting his body slowly relax into Blaine, letting it get used to the feeling of Blaine around him. He trails reverent, trembling fingers over Blaine’s cheekbones before he pulls back, “Okay.”

Blaine smiles. “Bed,” he says, to which Kurt huffs a laugh and nod. They inspect the kitchen quickly, to make sure nothing was left out of place, before they lace their hands together and leave.

When they reach his door, Kurt untangles their fingers and moves toward it, letting Blaine continue down the corridor.

Blaine, however, stops immediately and frowns, “Where are you going?”

“My bed...?”

“No…!” Blaine whines, almost comically as he pouts, “Sleep with me. Please.”

“I… Oh. Huh, Rachel has this nasty habit of walking in without knocking, and if she doesn’t find me there, then she’ll check your ro-”

He is interrupted by Blaine’s finger pressed against his lips as he smiles fondly and tilts his head a little, “I couldn’t care less about Rachel and her habit of violating people’s privacies.”

“But she’ll tell everybody.”

“So?” Blaine chuckles, “You think they won’t find out?” He looks amused and a little teasing. “Kurt, it is _literally_ impossible to keep secrets in this house. Besides, every single one of them knows how madly head over heels I am for you, and how, you know, it’s a little bit reciprocated. I think… they’re not going to be very surprised.”

“Oh.”

“Except maybe Joe. He’s just so…” he trails off without the right word, but laughs and shakes it off. “Anyway, they’ll tease for a little while, but it’ll be fine, Kurt, I promise. The moment you look at them with that fantastic glare you have, they’ll shut up and mind their own business,” he smiles fondly at Kurt and tugs him a little closer. “But please don’t make me sneak around with this and make it even harder than it already is.”

“Oh… no. I… I won’t.”

“Good.” Blaine nods, “So that’s decided then.”

-x-

Falling asleep and waking up next to Blaine, sharing in his warmth and feeling safely settled into his body, is just as good as it was the first time, only better. Now they can kiss, too. Blaine lands a few lazy ones on the dip between Kurt’s clavicles, before unwrapping his arms from around Kurt and propping himself up on his chest instead. He smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Hey there.”

They kiss, slow, but simple.

“The house is awfully silent for this late in the morning,” Kurt notes, sliding out of bed.

“Everyone’s sleeping in because of the party, yesterday. Besides, the day building up to a camp raid we try to take it easy, sleep a little more, exercise the bare minimum if at all, you know. It wouldn’t do to go over there already exhausted.” Blaine shrugs. “Come for a jog with me?”

“Oh no!” Kurt laughs at once, “I have no death wish, thank you very much.”

“I’ll keep it slow and easy,” Blaine offers with a grin.

“No.” Kurt shakes his head and puts both hands on Blaine’s shoulders, “I like Rachel and our similar starting point. Maybe in a few weeks, I’ll join you. I’m gonna go get dressed and find her now.”

Blaine doesn’t seem taken aback in any way. Instead he leans forward so that they can share a quick kiss and says, “Alright, in that case I’ll see you later and I’ll go talk to Will, too, about you coming tomorrow night. You still want to, right?”

“Yes, please.” Kurt nods, perhaps a little too chirpy for such a serious subject, but he can’t help it when at any moment he could just kiss Blaine’s soft cheek and have the gesture welcomed. He does, and they share one last, quick smile before parting ways to deal with their own days.

Kurt finds Rachel easily, seeing as she’s still in bed, sporting a massive and predictable hangover. She’s adamant about pushing through it, to go work out, so he waits for her to get dressed, and they eat a small breakfast together. She doesn’t ask anything (doesn’t even seem to suspect), and he doesn’t tell, of course. He’s decided to take that course of action: he’ll stand by his promise to Blaine not to sneak around with anything, but he’d feel too silly to make grand announcements. Just imagining it makes his cheeks red.

It doesn’t take long, though, until the line between big announcement and not sneaking around blurs immensely. Kurt returns from his jog with Rachel (kept relatively short and simple for the day), when Blaine’s making his way downstairs from Will’s office. The living room is now filled and bustling with people as they eat breakfast or rest cold cloths against migraines. Their eyes meet, and Blaine smiles with a nod.

“I get to go?” Kurt asks, immediately jogging over and meeting Blaine at the bottom of the stairs with a giddy smile.

“Not that it’s a particularly fun fieldtrip, silly,” Blaine teases, but he’s smiling, too, “Yes, you can come.”

“Thank you!” Kurt beams and, without pausing to think about it, kisses him soundly. He pulls back, blood rushing to his cheeks as he realizes what he’s just done, and finds Blaine pressing his lips together, keeping his laughter inside, as everybody around them stops in their tracks. They look around themselves slowly, taking in the reactions – ranging from grinning to laughing and celebrating, meaning very little variety, actually.

With a controlled, polite smile, Blaine finally breaks their silence and pointedly says, “Mind your own business, thank you,” before kissing Kurt’s cheek and saying, “Gonna go on a run. Catch you later.” He smiles, clearly still itching to laugh, before he pulls away and calls over his shoulder, “Sam, lets go!”

Sam practically startles and trips over himself in his haste to follow.

Kurt watches them leave, his brain rushing to find any kind of excuse to leave the room. It feels more like a tank of starving sharks than anything.

The moment that the front door clicks closed, everyone else turns pointedly towards Kurt, and he only has time to say “Tina, walk me through tomorrow’s plan” and nearly sprints his way to the conference room.

Once Tina enters the room, immediately she’s grinning and waving her hands like a maniac, “Oh my god, Kurt, tell me everything!” But Kurt just fixes her with a stare. “… Or let me tell you all about tomorrow,” she deflates at once but doesn’t waste much more time before pulling out a folder.

Kurt still remembers most of it from the day before, but this time she really doesn’t spare any details and he makes a bigger effort to commit it memory. Ten minutes in, his brain definitely clicks into “work” mode and any thought of Blaine and the mess of curious little heads upstairs flies away. Mike does join them after a while, but he doesn’t so much as mention Blaine, just goes straight to business.

“Wait, so Blaine’s going to keep the portal open for the prisoners? That means he can’t do any other magic…”

“Yeah,” Mike sighs, “Usually it’s fine, but this time I’m not so fond of that, because you’ll be with him. I kind of wish he’d be able to protect the both of you as efficiently as possible.”

“I guess if it didn’t have to be an international portal… if he could open it to somewhere closer he’d have some room to wiggle…?” Tina offers, twisting her nose, clearly uncomfortable with either option.

“Wait.” Kurt frowns. “He’s going to be opening an International portal? But isn’t that dangerous and traceable.” Mike and Tina look at him as if this is information he should’ve already gathered. He thinks back to the discussions and thinks that, yeah, it’s been mentioned before, but still he registers it now. “I had other things on my mind.”

He doesn’t miss the way Mike almost laughs before he says, “Yes, international portals are dangerous because they’re harder to keep open, and because they can be traced. But what the authorities can trace isn’t the foreign destination, it’s the origin point – or if it’s incoming, they trace the destination, but not the origin point. So, what happens, when we open one, is that the government is warned about someone trying to leave or enter the kingdom via magic, and they know exactly where that’s happening. They have an enchanter working full time on that department, opening portals as fast as they can to try and catch them in the act. But still, if you don’t keep the portal open for more than a couple seconds, like when you two went to see Queen Carmen, then it’s fine. It’s just that it does take some skill to be quick about such a long distance.”

“But this isn’t a couple of seconds…”

“Yeah, no, that’s definitely true. But they’re already preoccupied with trying to defend the camp – any reinforcements they send will go towards that, not to try and arrest the people crossing the portal.” Mike shrugs.

“The first couple of camps we raided we tried to work around it,” Tina adds. “But the end result was a bit disastrous, so we decided to try and see what works better, and this way’s much more efficient, even if it does alert the government of where we’re hitting them about as soon as we do it. Sure, we could use the delay, and not dealing with the reinforcements. But better that than sending the prisoners right up to the boarder and having them slaughtered by the boarder control guards.”

Kurt nods a little dumbly. “Okay… I guess you’d know better,” he says, and the two of them give him amused little smiles.

They spend a good two hours covering everything about the next day, before it’s definitely time for lunch. Kurt, horrified that he hasn’t remembered until now, takes the quickest shower in his life before helping Joe and Rachel finish setting up the table, just as Blaine and Sam return and disappear off for their own showers just as fast. Kurt doesn’t ignore how everyone’s eyes suddenly flit between the two, for as long as they’re in the same room, but he ignores it, just like Blaine seems to.

The meal itself is a painful affair. Like they’ve had since Blaine and Santana’s fight, Kurt and Blaine sit side by side, which, of course, attracts enough snickers and giggles, and it seems like everyone’s trying to come up with the best innuendo about them. Kurt tries to ignore it, treating Blaine the exact same way he’d treat him if all the teasing wasn’t happening, but he would just about give anything for it to stop.

That is, of course, until something does happen to make it stop.

Quinn and Santana burst through the front door. They don’t just look upset – they look murderous. Santana slams the door closed, while Quinn announces, “They know about tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Someone ratted us out,” Santana says through gritted teeth. “They were moving prisoners to two corner bunks, and unloading soldiers dressed as prisoners to the rest of the camp. Clearly they were getting ready for us.”

“No…” Tina gasps, leaning her head onto her hands and sighing, “We had it down to the last detail. I can’t believe it’s not gonna happen.”

“I can’t believe someone _ratted us out_.” Finn frowns.

“Are we _sure_ someone told them? Because that’s pretty serious. That means there’s a traitor in the Resistance,” Artie points out, looking just as troubled as everyone else.

“It’s the only possibility.” Quinn shrugs with a defeated sigh.

“They could’ve just spotted one of you guys on your re-con missions and assumed?” Artie offers, not seeming too sure of it.

“Then how would they know the date?” Quinn shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest, “I’m telling you, they’re getting ready for _tomorrow_! The recon missions were ages ago, they would have prepared way sooner or closed the camp. They want to catch us right in the act.”

There’s a collective sigh across the table, and everyone visibly deflates.

“I can’t believe it’s off,” Rachel murmurs.

“I think it’s a little more important that we find out who betrayed us,” Santana cut in, voice fierce and intent. “I mean, our missions are highly classified, hardly anyone outside this house knows about them.”

“Are you suggesting it was one of us?” Sam shakes his head, his voice harder and his eyes fiercer than Kurt’s ever seen them, “Okay, Santana, that’s enough. We get it that losing Britt was hard for you. We’ve all been there! It’s horrible, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that again, but it was not _our_ fault. Stop it with the anger. We’re all on the same side, here!”

She looks about ready to launch herself at him. “Are we? Because someone definitely has a big mouth, and your trouty lips definitel-”

“Santana, _stop it_!” Sam groans, “No one in this house betrayed the Resistance.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because whoever did, didn’t know about the last-day recon,” Blaine interrupts, “if they did, they wouldn’t have been moving the prisoners and bringing in the extra men _today_ , would they? Santana, just cool it for a bit, will you?” He sounds a little tired, voice edged with annoyance and contempt, even if not enough to match hers.

However, around the table people are nodding and gasping.

“So that means…” Quinn starts, glancing sideways at Santana and moving her body between the table and the other girl. “Either one of the backup people, or someone with a high enough rank that they would know. I mean, the Carmel guys only know the date, not the target so… I don’t know – it could’ve been a wild guess? Maybe they’re preparing every camp for the possibility? But… I don’t know, that was a lot of manpower; I don’t think they would do that in every camp. For them to be so certain about the date and the camp. I guess, it’d have to be someone with access to that information, but someone who also doesn’t know _exactly_ how we operate.” She shakes her head with a sad sigh. “I hate to say it, but that leaves Sue.”

“What?” Will rolls his eyes, “Don’t be ridiculous. Are you seriously accusing one of our _co_ - _leaders_ of treason?”

“She fits the bill.”

“She may be a lot of things, but traitor isn’t one,” Will insists, “Now, maybe some other cell leade-”

“Jesse,” Finn says.

“What?”

“Jesse St. James heard all about it. He knew when and where we were going to attack next,” he explains, his boyish looks replaced by a kind of focused, knowing glare, “And he’s definitely the kind of guy that would sell us out.”

“Shit,” Puck lets out with a fist to the table.

Kurt can’t do anything but stare as suddenly the table is alight with rage and horror. Tina looks completely bereft, eyes suddenly too bright as she stares at her half-eaten plate. Rachel has her face in her hands and is shaking her head on reflex. Sam looks like he's about to blow up.

This isn’t like when he was part of the school newspaper and every week there would be a meeting and everyone would be fighting everyone’s ideas, and it isn’t even like when Kurt’s neighbors were on the brink of divorce and he could hear them fight late at night over the stupidest, most insignificant stuff. No, this is a matter of life or death. This is a group of people feeling completely and utterly betrayed – destroyed and beat before they even had the chance to begin.

Taking over this camp was crucial and even Kurt knew that. It was all about sending the wrong message to the regime. It was about them thinking the Resistance was still fussing over the ‘small’ things, when, in fact, they were moving on to the biggest target of them all. This was, after all, the first part of the diversion tactic.

And just like that, it was ripped from their reaching hands?

Well, not if Kurt can help it. He might not have seen a lot of action movies, but he’s seen enough.

“Guys?” he calls out, only to have zero people noticing him. “Guys?!” he calls louder, still nothing. He crashes a plate, “HEY!”

Suddenly everyone’s silent and staring at him. He takes a deep steadying breath. “Okay, guys. I realize this looks bad. But there is such a thing as looking on the bright side.”

“Kurt, it’s not-” Blaine starts with a fond, sort of sad smile, and Kurt just clamps a hand over his mouth.

“And in this case you’ve said it yourself. Jesse didn’t know about today’s recon. So… they don’t know that we know.”

“That helps us?” Puck asks in a skeptical tone.

“Of course it does!” Kurt groans, “If they were dumb enough to move all the prisoners to a single place, a corner of all places, for god’s sake, then that’s a lot less camp you got to worry about. Their extra men are all in the bunks? Take them out all at once, simple and not-so-clean. I’m sure mister magic hands over here can blow some stuff up, right?” He looks at Blaine with a smirk.

“I… Yeah. I guess.”

“Listen, this time you can literally blow the place up with everyone inside, and it won’t matter.” He shrugs, “Quinn, you guys saw where they were putting the prisoners, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We go for that first. We do a silent approach.” His brain is alive with a new kind of dangerous and intimidating creativity. “We get everyone out of there, and as soon as they’re safe, you know, kaboom.”

There’s a stretch of silence where everyone just sort of stares at him, and then another where they just stare at each other and then suddenly Will is saying “So, Mike and Santana, you go back out there and watch the place and take in as many details as possible and come back by nightfall with the information, please. Blaine, Kurt, Quinn and Tina, I want you in the conference room in five minutes so we can start detail the plan with what we already know. Puck, Finn and Sam, go check we have everything ready as far as weaponry and equipment goes. Artie, start on a letter to Sue explaining all about our suspicions of Jesse. Everybody move.”

“Wait,” Rachel gasps, “What about me? What do I do?!”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” Will frowns for a moment before he says, “Come with us.”

-x-

They spend hours in the conference room without resurfacing. The amount of ideas and opinions gets overwhelming and flat out unproductive a couple of times, but mostly they just plow through it and make a new plan from scratch. Tina is visibly dispirited by this, but even she can acknowledge that this might turn out to be even better and easier than the first because there’s so little camp area to truly worry about.

Now that he’s involved in creating the plan, no one so much as questions Kurt being a part of it, and he is – a big one, too. He’ll still be babysat by Blaine, but he’s not just sitting in the sidelines and watching others work. Blaine and Kurt will be taking care of breaking into the prisoner’s bunk and escorting them to safety, while Quinn and Santana will be covering them as snipers, and Mike and Sam as close backup. The rest will be spread throughout the outskirts of the camp, making sure that no guards realize what’s happening in the east corner (indicated by Quinn as the place where prisoners are being held), and containing any threat, until it’s time to blow stuff up – and while Blaine absolutely refuses to blow stuff up while there are people inside, he’s agreed to at least smoke them out. And in case the fleeing guards get dangerously close to the escaping prisoners, everyone else has orders to engage in whatever combat necessary.

However, having Blaine use magic on the mission means he can’t be the one holding the portal for the prisoners open this time. It prompts a debate about calling in for some extra help again. Most of them think it’s dangerous since they can’t yet be sure that the mole isn’t from the cell they usually go to for backup, Carmel – especially because Jesse St. James is from that cell. But on the other hand, they’d be a little bit insane to go in with such a limited amount of people.

They’re still weighing the pros and cons when Mike comes back with new information that makes the decision for them – backup definitely needed.

“Let’s just not use the Carmel cell,” Blaine says, “I’ll go to the Dalton cell. Last time I saw David, they told me they got a pretty good wizard up there, and frankly, after this thing with Jesse, I don’t trust anyone else.”

“You’ve never met this wizard at Dalton,” Tina warns, “And we’ve always used Carmel for backup.”

“ _Jesse_ is from Carmel, Tina.” Blaine counters. “I know David and Wes; those guys are beyond _strict_ about loyalty. Their cell wouldn’t last two seconds in Dalton if they had a mole. You have no idea the kind of initiation process they have.” Blaine waves it off, “I should leave right now, so I can have them here as soon as possible for the last briefing.”

“How many are you thinking of bringing?” Will is still staring at the blueprints, a worried crease between his eyebrows. “I think at least eight?”

“I could get all of them. Those guys are solid. But yeah, something like that.” Blaine nods, “Kurt, wanna tag along? They’d be thrilled to meet you!”

“Oh, huh, sure.” Kurt feels himself blushing, their strange relationship and people’s reaction to it suddenly coming back. He can feel the way everybody’s suddenly just staring at them and _smirking_.

Blaine, seemingly indifferent to everyone else in the room, grins and then teases, “Full disclosure: It’ll involve portals.”

“Yes, I assumed it would.” Kurt rolls his eyes, just as Rachel sighs, “So cute.”

Kurt shoots her a glare while Blaine rolls his eyes, before brushing it off. “So, come on, no time to lose.” Blaine takes Kurt’s hand and pulls him out of the room, papers trailing after them midair. They go into Blaine’s bedroom where he finds a backpack and just throws a couple of things in there.

“Do you wanna eat something before we go?” Blaine asks as he ties his backpack closed.

“Huh, I don’t know… Am I going to throw up afterwards?”

Blaine considers it for a moment, “I don’t think so…?”

“Then, yeah.”

They eat a quick meal before Kurt finds himself outside the house in the cold night. He wraps his coat tighter around himself, and turns to Blaine with a small smile, “Hugging time?”

With a laugh that disappears into the howling, strong wind, Blaine immediately pulls him in close, and kisses him before gold light envelops them. The feeling doesn’t get any better, of course, but maybe it’s the kiss, maybe he’s just getting used to it, this time Kurt shakes it off quite easily once it’s over and he just stands there, looking around himself and taking Blaine’s hand into his own out of reflex.

They’re on the outskirts of what looks to be a city. It’s the dead of night and the buildings aren’t very tall, so he can’t see much else besides a few lit windows, but it’s definitely much closer to Kurt’s definition of city. Where they are, it’s mostly just houses with a bigger building here or there. He can imagine that, if he were to go deeper into it, the city would turn out much more overwhelming or maybe even intimidating. The walls appear pitch black in the scarce moonlight and the ground is covered with dirty snow. Kurt can’t really conciliate this place with the idea of a capital city. It just feels… creepy.

“So this is Dalton, huh?”

He holds on to Blaine’s hand a little tighter and shuffles an inch closer.

“The outskirts of Dalton, yes.” Blaine nods. “We should go. Lingering in the streets this time of night isn’t a good idea, I think it’s past curfew.”

They walk quickly to an old abandoned building. Its windows are broken, and some of them are boarded up. The rotting wooden door is ajar, with a thick, loose iron chain barely keeping it closed. Blaine pulls it open enough for them to slip inside, and Kurt looks around to find himself in what is still pretty much an empty stone hall. There are remains of demolished walls everywhere, a couple of really old, rotting furniture pieces, and the distinct smell of animal urine. Kurt is starting to wonder if maybe the Dalton cell was discovered and annihilated, when Blaine just starts whistling. Literally whistling.

And Kurt knows the tune.

His mother used to hum it sometimes, when she was making dinner or helping Kurt tidy up his room. Kurt closes his eyes and tries to shake off the feeling of slight betrayal that comes with every small discovery like this. Knowing that his mother knew about this all along and never told him anything… sometimes it still makes his heart beat faster and his chest feel a little hollow.

It takes a few moments before what looked like a sewage opening in the floor swings open, bright, white light spilling out and a head pops up. The man is blond and thin, and he smiles at once, “Blaine!”

“Jeff,” Blaine grins, stepping closer, “How are you?”

“Grand, really!” Jeff says at once, climbing up a ladder and stepping out of the trapdoor, his hand is _casually_ resting on a gun at his belt, “I have to ask… what’s the first thing I said to you?”

Blaine smiles and rolls his eyes, “Hold on, I just saw your face in the newspaper and it says you’re dead.”

“Right on, Blaine. Okay, that’s verified.” Jeff nods happily, “Who’s your friend here?”

Blaine startles and pulls Kurt a little forward at once, “Jeff, meet Kurt; Kurt, this is Jeff.”

Jeff is taller than either of them, but a lot slimmer, and looks even younger than Kurt. Like always, once he notices Kurt’s eyes, Jeff’s whole demeanor changes. He stands a little straighter and Kurt can’t help be reminded of a child getting scolded.

Noticing this, Blaine clears his throat and offers in a light, conversational tone, “Jeff and I got initiated into the Dalton cell practically at the same time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeff mumbles, “We miss you around here.”

Blaine just nods, “Alright, can we go inside?”

“Of course, of course.” The boy almost trips over himself going back to the trapdoor. Kurt watches the last tuff of his hair disappear before he inches closer to it and inspects the opening on the floor. It most probably _is_ the entrance to some kind of sewage tunnel. There’s metal bars standing for a ladder.

“You first.” Blaine’s voice almost startles him.

“No, no… You can go first…” Kurt tries for nonchalance.

Blaine gives him a fond, quick smile before shaking his head, “I _insist_.”

Kurt hesitates, but then Blaine is looking over his shoulder at the little street visible through the dusty, busted and boarded up windows, and the urgency is very clear. He shakes off the slight discomfort he feels over going down that ladder, and lets go of Blaine’s hand. He goes carefully step-by-step until, finally, the sole of his boot hits concrete floor. He looks around himself to find an empty, but long well-lit corridor – his eyes having to adjust to the sudden light. Jeff is already halfway down the corridor.

Blaine hops off the ladder just behind Kurt and he finds his hand immediately. “I like the Inn better,” he says in hushed voice.

Blaine chuckles but doesn’t say anything, starting to follow Jeff.

“I feel like at any moment gypsies are going to ambush me for breaking into the court of miracles.”

“What?” Blaine looks at him, as they walk side by side.

“Oh. Right. Never mind.” Kurt shakes his head, “It’s just that, you know, sewage…”

“This part hasn’t been used for decades. It’s clean.”

“Yes, I can smell that,” Kurt deadpans and Blaine just shoots him a halfhearted glare.

Before he knows it, they’ve caught up to Jeff who’s standing by a small opening on a wall. They go through it and Kurt finds himself in a room filled with people, sitting at desks, perusing papers, books, writing things, and just overall working.

Everyone stops and every head turns towards them as they come in. From the far corner a tall, dark young man stands at once calling out, “Blaine!”

“David!” Blaine grins, just as another man closes a door behind himself and notices Blaine with a wide smile. “Wes!” Blaine calls out, stepping over to meet them halfway. Kurt follows without releasing Blaine’s hand, and watches as Blaine shares one-armed hugs with the two men, who pull back and look at Kurt with slight frowns.

“Guys, this is Kurt,” Blaine introduces, pulling him a little closer, “I thought you’d like to meet him.”

“Hey there,” Kurt mutters, his cheeks burning in advance for the moment they notice the blue in his eyes.

“The crown prince!” David gasps, immediately thrusting his hand forward, “It’s such an honor to meet you!”

“I can’t believe it’s not just a rumor! This is amazing!”

“Yes, likewise.” Kurt shakes both of their hands, before returning his grip to Blaine’s, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage. This is so different from the Inn and seriously, truly intimidating.

David’s eyes follow Kurt’s hand’s movement and, at about the same speed that Kurt’s cheeks go an even deeper shade of red, the man grins. “You would…” he says, turning back to Blaine, who’s looking mortified beneath a thinning veneer of calm and composure, “You _so_ would!”

It’s Wes who saves both of their faces of melting off as he clears his throat, elbows David discreetly and says, “So, I assume you didn’t come here just to introduce us to Kurt, or tell us about your relationship status.”

Blaine sputters a little at that, but nods, “Can we speak in private?”

“Of course.” David looks only slightly chastised as he turns towards the door Wes had just come from.

The four of them file in, and take seats over a table that’s about three times bigger than the one at the Inn. Wes sits at the head, and Blaine sits on his left while David takes the right and Kurt just shuffles awkwardly to the seat next to Blaine’s. The walls are a dusty gray, lined up with multiple shelves bending over the weight of many stacks of paper and books, and the ceiling hangs low and a little menacing. This is exactly what anyone would imagine the base of a clandestine operation looking like, as opposed to a cozy, adorable little inn in the middle of an idyllic valley.

“So, how many men are we talking about here?” Wes takes the first seat he reaches, and the rest of them proceed in the same fashion.

Blaine doesn’t even flinch at the abruptness of such a question “Not many, it’s not going to be like most of the previous raids. We were ratted out, and the NG knew about the raid. They apparently didn’t know about some of our protocols, so we caught it in time to switch gears. They’re putting the prisoners all in the same place and filling the rest of the bunks with guards disguised as prisoners. We’re doing a silent approach for the prisoners and then blowing up the place and just generally wreaking havoc.”

“Sounds good.” David smiles, eyes flicking nervously towards Kurt who, for lack of something better to do or say, smiles back.

“We need a third enchanter to keep the portal for the prisoners open, so that I can engage in battle.”

“Right. You want ours?” Wes asks, everything about him professional and straight to the point.

“David said he was good.”

“He is.” Wes nods, very matter-of-factly. “I’ll go fetch him. Just give me a minute,” he says before disappearing out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

At once, David leans his chin against the palm of his hand, observes them and smiles, “So, how did you two meet?”

“David!” Blaine sighs, cheeks slightly pink, but mostly calm, “Knock it off.”

“But you’re together, right?” David leans in further, a dopey kind of smile on his face, “You look cute together.”

“We are.” Blaine’s voice doesn’t waver and Kurt feels a sort of electrical jolt go through his body at the sound of it, “But this is really not the time to discuss it.”

David laughs, “When will it be?”

“Never,” Blaine chuckles back, but he lets his arm rest around the back of Kurt’s chair, easily.

“I’ll pencil it on my datebook, but no promises.” David winks.

“I’m sorry you had to meet him, Kurt,” Blaine teases easily, and Kurt lets himself relax for the first time since he landed on that cold, dark street.

“Like you’re that much better, Blaine.” Kurt shrugs with one shoulder and Blaine fakes outrage while David lets out a winning laugh.

At that exact moment the door opens, and Wes comes in, followed by a tall, slim boy, with light brown hair and a smirk on his face. His murky grey eyes land immediately on Blaine and his voice is a greasy drawl as he says, “Wait a sec! It’s the Anderson boy!”

Blaine’s posture changes at once without him moving an inch. His whole body is suddenly tense and it’s a good three seconds before he speaks in an icy tone, “I’m Blaine.”

“Uh, touchy subject, gotcha!” The other boy winks, eyes raking over Blaine’s body and making the hair on Kurt’s stand, “I’m Sebastian, and I hear you require my services.”

“Maybe.” Blaine’s jaw is set, and his eyes are unforgiving in his glare.

“Blaine, relax…” David breaks in, trying to diffuse some of the tension, “He’s a jerk, but he’s talented, and he’ll do a great job.”

“Ouch,” Sebastian shoots at David, but his smirk never leaves.

“And he’s trustworthy?” Kurt pipes up, his own tone glacial.

Only then does the boy notice him, and his eyebrows shoot up and his smirk grows, “Oh, oh, oh, big fish, _bigger_ fish!”

“Sebastian, shut up and listen.” Wes’ clipped voice puts a damper on the boy’s behavior and he sits down, opposite Kurt, looking considerably closer to a professional.

“We’re raiding a camp tomorrow and we need a third wizard, to keep the portal for the prisoners open.”

“That’s kind of boring, I gotta say. My talents go well beyond a measly little portal.”

“So you can do it without a problem, then.” Blaine’s eyes aren’t cold anymore, instead they’re alight with contempt, “I’m sorry if we don’t need you to do the exciting part, kid, but you know, since we’re not playing games and we’re not children discussing who had the boring part last time, you’re kind of stuck with the portal.”

Sebastian tenses slightly at that, an eyebrow quirking.

“Look, we just need to know if you can keep an international portal open for an undetermined amount of time, while we evacuate the prisoners out of the Branc Camp. If you think that’s boring or unworthy of your time, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing in this place.”

“Okay, relax. I’ll do it. No need to get all hot and bothered. I was just messing with you, _b_ _abe_.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Is this because I called you Anderson?”

“Oh my god, just shut up!” Kurt groans, “You’re not that funny, you’re not that witty, and you’re certainly not that pretty.”

“Oh, look, a poet,” Sebastian deadpans.

“You’re just so inspiring, I couldn’t help myself,” Kurt drawls back, leaning a little closer, over the table.

“I think maybe that’s enough…” Wes’ voice doesn’t have the authority it had when he was admonishing Sebastian alone, but it’s enough to pull Kurt back to reality, and he sits back with his chin up and his arms over his chest. Behind him, Blaine’s arm squeezes a little, and he glances to offer him a quick, appeasing smile.

“Sebastian, quit being an idiot, now, you’ll go with them to the Branc camp and do exactly what they say, alright?” David looks pointedly at the boy who shrugs and nods.

“We were also hoping for a couple reinforcements,” Blaine says, blatantly turning to face only David and Wes, “Not many, we’re not really planning on engaging in open battle. I’d say about ten or twelve?”

“You got it. Let me just go ask for some volunteers.” Wes nods.

“I definitely volunteer.” David smiles.

“You don’t need to keep an eye on me,” Sebastian scoffs.

David shoots him a glare and rolls his eyes, “Not everything is about you, Smythe. It’s been ages since I got out of this hole. I kind of need to get some fresh air.”

“Okay, so, you could come back with us?” Blaine offers, “Round up the guys you can spare us, and we’ll get going for the final briefing, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Wes nods before standing and leaving the room.

The diffused tension comes back full force. Kurt’s glaring back at Sebastian. Trying to get a grip on himself, Kurt leans back into Blaine’s touch, and then watches, with annoyed regret, as Sebastian’s eyes dip down to the hand squeezing his left arm.

“Oh. _Oh_. Oh, no!” Sebastian laughs, “This is too precious.”

For the first time, Kurt is not embarrassed or self-conscious of people knowing he’s with Blaine. For once, he looks back defiantly, and doesn’t even so much as work up a heart beat.

“You guys are together?!” he gasps, “John Anderson’s son is dating the crown prince? Wow.”

“Just shut up, Sebastian, no one cares what you think.” David shoots.

“You know, I don’t think the people will be particularly happy when another Anderson goes up to that throne… They might wonder.”

Kurt sets his jaw and works up a few choice words but he can feel how tense Blaine is next to him, and fighting with Sebastian isn’t worth aggravating Blaine’s already frayed nerves. He lets out a long breath and puts a steady hand on Blaine’s knee, thumb swiping over the thick leather of his pants in slow, soothing motions.

“Wow, it really _is_ a sore spot…” Sebastian says in fake-wonderment, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“That’s okay, you’re forgiven,” Kurt declares with the kind of glare that might actually kill if he looks long enough.

Thankfully, the door is open and a group of four men and six women come in. Blaine relaxes visibly at the sight of them, smiling amiably at a couple of them, “Trent! Nick! It’s been a while! So happy to have you guys on board.”

The two grin back, and soon after everyone else is introduced, it’s time to leave and get ready.


	15. Strenght of Character

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: graphic descriptions of lethal violence
> 
> Rock on, notthetoothfairy, rock on.

**Strength of Character**

They arrive at the camp well before nightfall. Will opens the portal to an isolated area in the woods surrounding the camp, but he’s careful to keep a considerable amount of distance. Given the fact that the Guard knew about the upcoming strike and that Jesse might be on their side, there’s reason to believe they will have cast protective spells around it and opening a portal in the middle of the protective radius would alert them to their presence at once.

They walk slowly and carefully through the fields, Santana and Quinn guiding them to the vantage points they’d been using. Kurt finds that his voice is hard to find now that he himself is dressed with the thick, intimidating uniform of a Guard, just like Blaine. This feels nothing like the times he goes jogging with Rachel or practices hand to hand combat – this is nothing like sitting in the conference room making plans and assumptions. He’s in uniform and so are the sixteen people surrounding him.

They stop for a moment, when the camp is barely in sight, but they haven’t breached security radius either. The camp is ominously calm and quiet, only a dozen of guards patrolling the areas between bunkers. It supposedly looks like any other night at the camp. Around the fence, there are more guards posed at intervals of five yards, and there’s a control tower with at least five snipers.

Sebastian, Blaine, Kurt, Mike, Sam, Quinn and Santana proceed carefully and quietly towards the east corner, where all the prisoners are being held, while the rest spread out, careful to remain hidden while maintaining a good vantage point.

Blaine leads the group, while Sebastian closes up the rear, and their steps are measured and careful. The crunch of snow and their nervous breathing are the only sounds they can hear until Blaine stops walking and holds out a hand to signal them to stop as well. He inches his foot a tiny bit further. If Kurt hadn’t been so focused on the action he would never have seen the silver glow rippling from the tip of his boot.

“Jesse’s been working on his subtlety, I see,” Blaine mumbles.

“What?” Kurt frowns.

“Jesse St. James?” Sebastian calls from the back in a hushed voice, “That’s who they’re using? Ugh, he likes to think he’s the best wizard to grace this earth.”

“Far from it…” Blaine completes with a chuckle, “He might be powerful, but he’s always so obvious. You can feel him a mile away.”

“So we can’t go any further than this?” Kurt decides to ignore the chatter of subtlety and whatnot, as it seems completely pointless to him right now, and focus on the matter at hand. They can kind of see their target bunks up ahead, but they can’t exactly just sit here and call it a day.

“Oh, sure we can,” Blaine shrugs and goes all the way in – this time the silver ripple is unmistakable and covers Blaine’s entire body as if he’d been entering a bubble, “We just can’t use magic, that’s all. If we do, he’ll know we’re here.”

Kurt follows him through it, feeling only the smallest shiver across his body as he does, and tries not to hesitate. “But we have to use magic.”

“Sebastian will open the portal at the edge of the protection and I won’t use any magic inside until we got everyone out safely and silently,” Blaine assures him, “Look, Jesse really isn’t subtle, and he’s possibly the worst choice for any protection spell, let alone this one.”

“Why?”

“He’s too self-involved. He would never feel us coming close, he’s not attuned to other people at all, only to power. Which means that, as long as we don’t use any magic, he won’t see us coming.” Blaine shrugs. “And the fact alone that he thought we wouldn’t notice _this_? That he thought we’d get here and proceed with our normal plan without realizing there was a trap…? It’s just plain arrogant, to be honest.”

“But fair’s fair – he knows how to wreak havoc like no one,” Sebastian adds from the back, “I’ve never seen him in action, but they tell me it’s like poetry.”

“Melodramatic, overdone poetry, you mean,” Santana drawls. “Listen, I’m no stranger to drama and bold statements, but he takes it waaay too far.”

“I think we should shut up for now,” Mike offers, and Kurt kind of agrees. They’re edging closer and closer to the camp and he can’t help feeling that the wrong gush of wind is enough to carry their voices all the way down there.

Finally they reach what seems to be the best vantage point, and Santana and Quinn are quick to set up their rifles, laying down on the ground, and pointing them towards the few guards stationed there. Mike edges as close as he can without being seen, while Sam and Sebastian go to the back, closer to the edge of the bubble. Blaine hands Kurt a pair of binoculars and pulls out another for his own use.

“Watch the left side,” he says, and Kurt does. They lay on the snow watching quietly as the guards barely move.

“Isn’t _this_ the last recon, though?” Kurt whispers after about half an hour of silence.

Blaine glances at him looking slightly amused. “Maybe. I mean, technically this is already part of the mission, you know. Sitting here, making sure the plan’s still viable and waiting for the exact right moment to make the first move.”

“Hmmm,” Kurt hums, and they’re silent for another stretch, “How come they weren’t expecting a last day recon, though? Isn’t it obvious we’d have a recon the day before the strike?”

“I’m not sure. The Resistance leaked some fake protocols once which didn’t include it, but that was years ago and if they think we’d still work with those, they’re a little… but yeah, that’s something. Or maybe they thought we’d only bother showing up at night, because that’s when we strike… They prepared everything at the crack of dawn, so clearly they were hoping we weren’t there to watch it. I mean, watching the camp’s not even _morning_ routine is kind of useless if we’re going to strike at night, so I can see why they’d think we wouldn’t bother – they did do it early in the morning. But mostly, they’re just arrogant and, like with Jesse, you should never underestimate the power of arrogance.” Blaine shrugs, “I mean take this for instance. Look at that camp… what’s the first thing you notice?”

“It’s… calm.”

“Exactly. It’s too calm. That hardly looks like a work camp, does it? Did they really think we wouldn’t notice that the moment we got here? What about these woods, why don’t they have men patrolling them? They want to make so sure we get inside so they can catch us in the act and make sure they kill all of us, they made it too easy to go in. Even if we hadn’t caught it with the last day recon, we would have right now.” Blaine shrugs with a small, almost amused smile and they fall back into silence.

“So question…” Kurt breaks the silence again, still careful to keep his voice quiet.

“Are you bored?” Blaine teases, bumping their shoulders together.

“No.” Kurt rolls his eyes before going back to the binoculars, “But, seriously, question. If you guys are the cell in charge of dealing with camps, then what does the Dalton cell do?”

Blaine’s silent for a moment, squinting through his binoculars at something before he says, “They forge documents, relocate people… They’re the ones we go to if we need to get someone undercover somewhere – they’ll give us everything we need, from IDs to backstories,… they’ll probably be helping us infiltrate the party, and break into the castle.”

“Oh… cool.”

“Yeah. They also make sure that if someone needs to disappear, they do.”

“Huh…” Kurt nods, watching as a fence guard leaves towards the edge of the woods, following him carefully, until he’s stopped about a yard in and opens his pants’ zipper. Kurt averts his eyes at once. “Gross, I don’t want to watch him pee.”

Blaine chuckles next to him. “I think that could be our easiest way in, though. Notice how they’re dumb enough to go _into_ the woods.”

“Sure.” Kurt nods, but doesn’t go back to watch the man, instead focusing on the small window on the side of the bunk. The clouds have moved enough that there is sun shining through it, and the inside isn’t indistinct shadows anymore. There are definitely people inside – way too many for the size of the space. Kurt purses his lips and breathes deep. He lets his eyes peruse the field around it for any sign of trouble, “So every cell has like a specific task…?”

“Hmhm…”

“So what about Jesse’s?”

“They steal and raise enough money to fund the whole thing.”

“Right.” Kurt nods, noticing as the bunk door opens, “Seems fitting,” he mumbles, now much more interested in the fact that a prisoner has come out of the bunk and seems to be comfortably pulling something out of a pocket in his robe, “Blaine, look at the bunk door. That can’t be a prisoner.” The man starts rolling a cigarette with steady, peaceful fingers.

Blaine moves to look, and they observe as the man takes long drags and looks calmly around himself. “They’re keeping guards in there with the prisoners.”

“Do you think the prisoners are mixed with the guards everywhere?”

“No.” Blaine shakes his head, squinting hard. “Santana and Quinn were adamant they moved all the prisoners to these two bunks. They’re just making sure there are guards in there in case we reach it. It’s fine, it’s probably just a couple of them anyway.”

“If you say so.” Kurt sighs and goes back to watching carefully.

They wait silently throughout the rest of the afternoon, and two more guards dressed as prisoners come out to smoke and pee. They memorize their faces as best as they can, so they single them out afterwards, but, other than eating a couple of granola bars and waiting for sundown, there’s not much else to do.

“Kurt,…” Blaine whispers, even lower than they’d been talking before.

“Yeah?”

Blaine discreetly hands him something. It’s a little, tiny flask shining with bright golden light. “It’s a portal, it leads back to the Inn.”

“Right… but Will will be opening-“

“If anything happens and you get separated, or… just in danger, use it. If it’s five minutes from now or at the middle of it all. You just put it on the ground and smash it with your foot.” Blaine’s still whispering, sometimes checking if anyone is looking at them. “And please, whatever you do – don’t lose it.”

“What…?”

“ _Anyone_ could use it – it leads back to the Inn, and if it got to the wrong hands it could be disastrous. That’s why we never have these on us, but… well. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Oh.” Kurt frowns slightly, accepting the small thing and burying it in the safest pocket of his pants.

“Don’t lose it.”

Kurt just nods, feeling a little pale, and goes back to his surveillance.

Finally, when the sun has set long ago, and there hasn’t been any movement among the guards for at least two hours, Blaine tucks away his binoculars, turns to Kurt and says, “Time to roll.” He pulls himself to his feet and offers a hand to help Kurt up, “I love you, by the way.”

Kurt lets himself smile for a moment, pressing their lips together in a quick, strong kiss, “I love you, too.”

Blaine signals Sam behind them, before the two of them start carefully further down the hill, towards Mike, who’s perched on a tree. Blaine nods, and Mike nods, before climbing down and the three of them spread and walk until they’re only two yards into the woods and dangerously close to the fence. Kurt can see the remnants of urine by the tree he’s using for cover. He wrinkles his nose in distaste but stays still.

It’s another hour before one of the guards breaks position to pee, and luckily another hurries to catch up.

Blaine and Mike move into action as soon as the men reach their trees of choice. Kurt watches as the two of them make quick and silent work of the two guards, clamping hands over their mouths and pushing syringes with thick, blue liquid into their necks. The two guards fall limply to the cushioning snow, and Kurt joins Mike quickly, snatching the helmet off the unconscious guard’s head and putting it on his own.

Kurt waits until Blaine’s also finished before he starts towards the fence, listening to the crunch of Blaine’s footsteps as he follows closely after.

They assume the guards’ previous positions on the fence, nodding almost imperceptibly in the general direction of Sam, Quinn and Santana.

Kurt’s careful to keep his gaze focused on the woods as he hears Blaine go up to the guard on his corner of the fence, “Hey, you got a smoke?” Blaine’s voice is slightly deeper than usual, as the wind carries it all the way to Kurt.

“Yeah, su-”

Kurt moves quickly, to stab the fourth guard with one of the syringes conveniently stored in his coat pocket. His hands are shaking, as he covers the man’s mouth and stabs his neck, but the guard doesn’t so much as let out a pip before he falls to the ground.

They stand still for a moment, waiting until Sam and Mike make their way down to the fence, replacing the fallen men in their positions. Careful to notice if their actions have been picked up by anyone in the control tower, Kurt and Blaine go back to their place, carrying the unconscious men with them. They keep their movements as slow and simple as possible as they unscrew the hinges and then keep the fence between the two of them upright. Kurt takes out the last little screw and signals Blaine a thumbs-up; receiving one in return, they carefully maneuver the small portion of the fence to the ground. They tie up the unconscious guards to the remaining fence on either side of the gap, so that they look like they’re standing in position.

Finally, they straighten their backs and set their jaws as they make their way to the first bunk in a confident, fearless stride. In the dead of night, no one notices the missing piece of fence, or the complete stillness of the guards next to it, or that the two guards confidently crossing towards the bunks in the east corner appeared out of the blue. The bunk looks ominously quiet, it’s door completely closed and not a lot of sound coming from inside. Kurt and Blaine stand before the door for a moment, making sure they’re okay to move forward, checking to see if the control tower shows any signs of suspicion. They exchange a look and Blaine takes a deep breath, mouthing “Show time.”

Kurt smiles and nods, before turning back to the door and trying not to freak out as Blaine pulls it open.

The smell hits them like a tidal wave – the smell of hundreds of people pushed into one single bunk built for about half of that, not allowed to move or go anywhere, not even to use the bathroom. Blaine doesn’t falter, though, and Kurt forces himself not to either. He follows Blaine’s lead as he strides confidently through the corridor between the absolutely overcrowded bed bunks. Kurt knows he’s looking for the guards they saw previously, and he would do the same if he wasn’t so scared of making eye contact with any of them – it’s too dark in the bunk for anyone to see anything, but it’s still a considerable risk. Instead, he keeps his gaze general and unfocused.

A man jumps off one of the bunks at their right and approaches Blaine, “Any problem, yet?”

“No,” Blaine says easily, “Just checking. There were some noises up north, but it may just have been a deer or some shit like that.”

“Right.”

“You know how paranoid those control tower guys are.”

“Tell me about it… Can’t even take a leak without them chewing my ear off.” The guy shrugs.

Blaine chuckles back, and then juts his chin towards the back of the bunk and sends off a general, “Everything okay back there?”

A man salutes him briefly calling out a deadpanned, “Peachy.”

Kurt knows there’s still another guard in here somewhere. He knows the one that came up to them isn’t one of the smokers, and it’s only a fifty percent chance of working, but he moves a little to his left and pretends to inspect the prisoners before saying with a sneer, “This place stinks… _fuck_. I need a smoke to clean my lungs, but I’m out. Any chance I could get one?”

Sure enough, from the farthest bunk in the left part of the structure, the third one says, “Sure thing.” And throws him his tobacco. Kurt catches it easily.

He feels Blaine’s heel scrape his own, and that’s the signal. Kurt’s been practicing his target shooting, and he knows he’s well above average, but this is was not in his original plan and he’s not so comfortable doing it. Still, he doesn’t let himself think before he pulls out his gun, and in one swift movement he points and shoots, the sound barely more than a shift in the air as the bullet wheezes past. He can hear, behind him, Blaine’s trigger pulling twice. And as soon as he sees his own target falling, dead, he turns to find Blaine with his gun still pointing and his two also down. There are some startled yelps, but mostly the prisoners remain silent, possibly more out of terror than anything.

They share a deep breath and quick smile, but that’s all they allow themselves before perusing the now completely silent and terrified crowd, to make sure no one else looks like they might be a guard.

Blaine squeezes his shoulder as he passes by him, and Kurt swallows before starting on his half-rehearsed spiel with a voice that’s only slightly shaking as he squares his shoulders and puts on a false bravado, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are with the Resistance and it is with great joy that we announce that you are now being rescued. My name is Kurt, and this is my colleague Blaine, and I will ask you to move in an orderly fashion as we escort you towards an open portal outside, which will take you somewhere safe. It’s vital that you remain silent and calm.”

He pauses to look at Blaine, who’s giving him an amused glare, “Please, please, don’t walk over each other trying to leave. Please don’t speak or scream as you do so. And please, follow our lead.” He pauses, and inspects the faces to see if they’re registering anything he says – it’s hard to tell, “For now, we need you to wait here for a couple of minutes while we break the news to your friends in the second bunk, will you?”

He tries to make sure that his words are making any impact, but the gaunt faces looking at him sport the most varied array of expression, from listless to sobbing.

He exchanges a look with Blaine and they nod, “Okay, just wait for a couple of minutes.”

They leave the door ajar as they make their way to the second bunk. There’s a prisoner smoking at the door, and he looks up at them, jerking his head in greeting and smiling.

“Seems like a calm night, after all,” he says.

“Yeah, no sign of them so far… we’ve been checking through the camp.” Blaine moves towards the door.

“Going in there?” the guard asks, “Better have some perfume… I’m dying over there.”

Kurt walks carefully over to him, and lets his face line up real nice with the guard’s, he waits until their eyes are locked and there’s recognition dawning over his face. “Oh, really?” Kurt sneers, before he stabs him in the neck with a syringe.

He catches the guard before he hits the ground, and carefully lays him down. Blaine waits until he’s ready to open the door, and they proceed with their technique of singling out the guards. This time it’s just two, so it’s over real easy. And Kurt’s the one perusing the ground while Blaine says, “Hi, I need to ask you all to please stay calm. We are not here to harm you. We’re with the Resistance, and we want to help you guys. But we need you all to stay as calm and silent as possible. There will be a portal outside that will take you somewhere safe – all you have to do is go towards it, up the hill. There is an opening in the fence waiting for you, and the two guards next to them are our men as well. I need to stress the importance of doing this as calmly as possible. I cannot stress this enough – panic and chaos will help _no_ one.”

They pause to make sure no one’s going to make a run for it. “Now, my friend here is going to make his way towards the rest of the prisoners, and I’m going to stay here with you and explain you what’s about to happen.” Blaine shoots Kurt another nod and gives him one of those gut-wrenching, not entirely happy smiles, and Kurt reaches out for his hand and squeezes it before leaving back to the first bunk.

He finds that almost everyone is still sitting, frozen in their places. A couple of slightly sturdier looking men have stood up and are raising their fists at Kurt.

“I know, I’m wearing a guard’s uniform, but I swear, I’m helping you guys.” Kurt tries to smile reassuringly, but being separated from Blaine has left him in a state of near panic, with cold sweat and trembling hands, “Listen, huh, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to signal my colleagues that we’re ready to go, huh, and when I do that, huh, our snipers are in position to take out the control tower. But, huh, but the moment that we do open fire on them, they might be alerted to us, so you’ll need to go straight for the portal and do not – I repeat – _do not_ deviate from that. There’s a gap in the fence that you need to go through, and then just go straight uphill. I, huh, I’m sure you’ll see the portal at once. I understand you might have loved ones you want to look for, but please, do that once you’re past the portal. We are going to make sure that every prisoner still alive will make it through.” He swallows the lump on his throat, realizing that he actually needs to look at those people if he’s hoping to gain their trust, “Okay?”

The man closest to him gives him a long, considering look and for the first time, Kurt’s happy to notice the moment their eyes meet. “You’re…?”

“I am the crown prince, and I am here to help you.” Kurt smiles, even though his heart is currently stammering, trying to beat its way of his chest, “If you’ll let me.”

There’s a sudden buzz around the bunker, and Kurt can feel the prickling of tears in his eyes as he thinks that maybe he can’t do this at all. Maybe he can’t guide a hundred people to safety.

“Okay,” the man says, and Kurt blinks away the fear. “You can go signal the other people. We’ll get organized.”

Kurt watches for a few minutes as people slide out of their impossibly crowded beds (that look a lot more like shelves than beds) and stand in long lines that overcrowd the thin corridors in the bunk. He turns back to the man and says, “Remember, no panic, no chaos.”

“You got it, _Kurt,_ ” he says, his big and warm green eyes contrasting to the way his pale skin clings to his skull like overstretched plastic.

Kurt stops long enough to shake his hand and say, “Thank you, …?”

“Elliott.”

“Thank you, Elliott.” He nods, and immediately moves back outside. He goes to the back of the bunk to see if Blaine’s ready as well, just as the door opens and he slips out, Blaine gives him an affirmative gesture and Kurt goes back to his front door, emptying his coat pockets, distributing the contents throughout the remaining pockets in his shirt and trousers, and taking it off. He watches as Mike and Sam immediately grab theirs guns a little tighter and move closer to the gap in the fence.

Kurt turns his gaze up to the control tower, and it’s a minute before he sees, all at once, the four bodies up there collapsing. Thankfully none of them fall outside of the tower, and only a few guards below notice it, quickly silenced with a couple more steady shots.

In a matter of one minute, the fence is completely clear of conscious guards, but Kurt doesn’t notice that. He’s too busy noticing the bright green light erupting up on the hill, and he hurries to open the door and let the prisoners file through in pairs. As he notices that women and young people are going first, he smiles to himself and commits the name Elliott to memory. Maybe he could look him up afterwards.

He leaves the door to stand halfway through the distance between the fence and the bunk, much like Blaine on the other side, standing watch as, inevitably, the guards patrolling the inside of the camp will notice either the exodus happening in the east corner, or their fallen colleagues by the tower and the fence.

It takes about two minutes before the first group comes along and Kurt takes them down in two seconds as they hesitate to shoot what looked like another guard. Another group approaches, but Kurt doesn’t get to raise his gun before their bodies are hitting the ground. He looks up at the woods, knowing that Quinn and Santana have better things to focus on than his thankful smile, but still he shoots one in their general direction. The number of guards coming towards them is rapidly increasing and while Kurt’s holding his ground, along with whoever is sniping away at them in the woods, as well as Sam and Mike, he’s sure that soon enough they’re going to be too many for them to hold off.

He’s considering pulling back when a huge wall of fire erupts around their area, sealing them off. He looks around himself to find Blaine climbing on top of one of the bunkers, and while Kurt can’t see what’s happening past the fire, he can hear a lot of explosions and a lot of screams. It’s not hard to guess there’s sudden pandemonium everywhere. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or run away screaming, so he just stays rooted to the spot, looking as Blaine surveys the area around them, looking eerily calm, as the explosions get bigger and louder, and as bullets ricochet off of something Kurt can’t see, but knows is a shield.

While chaos seems to be erupting on the other side of the fire, order and calm reign on their side. Seeming to draw confidence from the way Blaine isn’t even moving a muscle and yet taking apart the whole camp, the prisoners are making their way towards the portal in a quick sprint that’s miraculously orderly, with very little screaming or trampling over each other.

The prisoners are almost completely evacuated when the wall of fire is doused with what looks like a giant wave of water.

Kurt startles at that, scrambling to hurry the last few people, not stopping to look at what’s happening. No one needs to, really, it’s Jesse.

The last prisoner has crossed the fence when Kurt lets himself look back. A group of guards are fast approaching and Blaine is crouching low on the roof, surveying the scene as what looks like thick, live branches sprout form the ground, knocking the oncoming guards off their feet and dragging them away. Kurt can see Jesse springing from afar. He shoots mercilessly at him, but he must have a shield up, too.

“Blaine, come down from there!” Kurt calls, over the sounds of guns shooting, “I’ve got eyes on Jesse, he’s coming toward us!”

Blaine doesn’t so much as nod to signal he’s heard, but after he stops two more guards, he jumps off the roof, landing with a smooth tumble, and sprinting towards Kurt, “Where?”

“There.” Kurt points. He’s sure that Jesse hasn’t located them yet, but he will soon enough.

“Alright, get going up there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“But-”

“Kurt, you promised!” Blaine glares, and Kurt has to bite his tongue as he nods, and leaves.

When he crosses the fence, he looks back to see every bunk on fire, men crawling out of them, coughing and throwing themselves on the ground to kill the small fires in their clothes. Vines are still sprouting here and there, dragging men away and clustering them up in a corner. He knows that the snipers are positioned in a way that they could kill each one as they come out, but that’s not how the Resistance works – “As little deaths as possible,” Will had explained to him, once, “Some of these guards are just trying to keep their families safe, and regardless of that, they’re people, too.” Kurt knows it’s not a consensual philosophy amongst the Resistance, of course, and he himself doubts its value, because people make choices and should suffer their consequences, but he begrudgingly acquiesces, knowing that things aren’t as black and white as that. Besides, out here, on the battlefield, it’s adrenaline moving him through everything – but back at the Inn, when he has the chance to stop and think about the fact that he’s killed at least four men tonight, he knows he won’t feel the same way.

Mike reaches him first, hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Blaine?”

“Holding Jesse off.”

“Okay, go ahead.” Mike nods, “Sam and I will back him up for now. Tell Sebastian to come down when the last prisoner goes through.”

Kurt has a hard time breathing or speaking, feeling a little bit like all of his organs have disappeared at the thought of leaving Blaine behind – but he did promise. He sprints up the hill, and helps the last few prisoners to and through the portal; Sebastian and Elliot also reassuring everyone they’ll be safe once they cross it. Kurt almost freezes at the sight of Sebastian’s soft expression and encouraging tone – any hint of his usual leer completely gone.

 _He is in the Resistance, after all_ , Kurt reasons, _he’s got to believe in this._

“Alright, last one!” Sebastian smiles at Elliot, gesturing for him to go forth.

“C-can I stay and help you guys?” He asks instead, expression a little hopeful; “I was about to join the Resistance when I got arrested.”

Kurt’s almost opening his mouth to say yes, when Sebastian shakes his head, though his expression remains kind and warm, “I’m sorry, man, but first you’ve got to get healthy again. Maybe in a couple of months.” Elliott’s face falls at once, but Sebastian edges closer and squeezes his shoulder. “Listen, when you’re ready, all you have to do is say you want to. There are Resistance members working where you’re going, they can help you. And Kurt and I will put in a good word for you – his word is kind of powerful, you know? You’ll get in any cell you want..”

Elliot turns towards Kurt, who has to admit Sebastian’s answer makes a lot more sense than his rash thought. He smiles and tries to ignore the way his entire body is still shaking, “That’s right.”

“Oh… Okay.” Elliot nods, a soft small smile turning his eyes a little brighter. “I’ll see you soon, then.”

“I certainly hope so,” Kurt offers with a grin, reaching out to pat the man’s shoulder, and trying not to react at the way he barely only feels bone and skin there. Elliot smiles back at the two of them and nods, before stepping over to the portal and disappearing into the bright green light.

Sebastian waits another three seconds before he closes it. “Mission accomplished,” he says, and his smirk is back.

“Yes, yes. You said you wanted to do something more exciting. Jesse’s down there, and we should go help Blaine out.”

“ _We?_ I’m pretty sure _you_ ’re supposed to go to that portal over there.” Sebastian arches an eyebrow as he points over his shoulder where the white glow of Will’s portal is already shining.

Kurt narrows his eyes, clenches his jaw. Discreetly he presses his hand over his pocket and checks that the flask is still there.

“Cute.” Sebastian rolls his eyes, before he turns and starts sprinting down the hill. As they approach, the sound of roaring fire and sporadic explosion gets louder and louder. Amidst burning building, chaotic running and frantic fighting, Blaine stands isolated almost exactly where Kurt had left him, but now he’s dodging large balls of fire, while Jesse alternates between trying to escape the same kind of thick vines from before, and shooting those balls of fire.

All the while, Sam and Mike are shooting down any guard that tries to walk around the two wizards in pursuit of the long gone prisoners and Resistance fighters, eventually having to dodge some bullet or ball of fire. Kurt tries shooting at Jesse for a while, though he knows it’s in vain (it’s not like Mike or Sam haven’t tried that before, either), and it only succeeds in alerting him to his presence. He drops to the ground as a ball of fire wheezes just inches above his head and explodes upon collision to the ground. Kurt shoots back, disregarding the futility of it, and, when one of his bullets hits one of the balls of fire, the thing explodes right there, at its origin point in front of Jesse, who recoils in pain, giving Blaine’s weird ropey plant the perfect opportunity to wrap around Jesse’s legs, stilling him there.

All the while, Sebastian, noticing that Blaine’s situation is mostly under control, has taken to wreaking havoc all across the camp again, bursting up the practically empty infrastructures and playing something akin to whack-a-mole with the few scattered remaining guards that insist on trying to approach them. He does it with a smile on his face and dangerous ease.

Kurt jumps back to his feet and continues intercepting Jesse’s shots at Blaine, making Jesse all the more enraged; his efforts into hurting Blaine or Kurt triple. Picking up on this, Sam, too, has started shooting at the fire balls, blocking the entire thing altogether and making sure none of them gets close enough to Blaine to bother him, allowing him to making even faster progress.

When Blaine, never taking his eyes off Jesse, stops an enormous piece of debris from crushing him, the boy falters in his movements, and for a moment Kurt thinks he’s just as surprised as everyone that Blaine saved his life, but then Kurt notices that Jesse’s feet are disappearing below the ground, and then his ankles, and half od his shins already. Panic takes over his face and body as he struggles to get out of the sinking mud, but with every movement he just sinks further and further. Thick, vine ropes tie in his arms and he struggles to no avail until he’s neck deep in the mud.

Unlike Blaine, Jesse doesn’t seem to be able to do magic well without the corresponding movement, so, while there are sudden sporadic bursts of fire, his powerful shots have almost stopped. Sam goes back to warding off incoming guards, and Kurt tries not to get caught up in just watching as Blaine jogs calmly over to the trapped Jesse, a thick rope straining against Jesse’s forehead to pull it back, and kneels down, taking a syringe out of his pocket and driving it into his neck.

“Like they said,” Sebastian drawls, suddenly standing next to Kurt and tilting his jaw towards the now unconscious Jesse, “Zero finesse.”

“Right…” Kurt gasps, seeing no finesse in _any_ part of that. He looks around the camp to see if there’s anything they’re missing before clearing out, but if there were it’s definitely destroyed now, while Sebastian stands there, sweat dripping a little down his forehead.

Kurt looks to find Blaine and Sam pulling Jesse out of the mud, and Blaine’s eyes meet Kurt’s. The glare is instantaneous – _you promised_. Kurt winces but doesn’t have time to apologize before Blaine’s turning back to his task.

“Though your boyfriend could’ve ended that a lot sooner if he’d been aiming to kill, like the idiot over there.” Sebastian says, and Kurt turns to tell him to shut up, when he sees a guard raising his gun towards the back of Sebastian’s head.

“Get down!” he gasps, as his fingers instinctively press the trigger and the guard tumbles back with the hit to his chest.

Sebastian, sprawled on the floor, is looking up at Kurt with wide eyes and a gaping mouth; it’s maybe a full minute before he manages to breathe out, “Thanks…”

“Yeah. Sure.” Kurt rolls his eyes, helping him back to his feet. Sam is already throwing Jesse’s unconscious body onto his shoulder, “We’re moving out, come on.” He grabs Sebastian’s elbow and they start towards Will’s portal.

“You know,” Sebastian pants as they sprint up the hill, occasionally aiming shots over their shoulders at the few guards still in pursuit, “If you were my type, I’d totally go for you right now.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Kurt groans, pushing a large rock to tumble downhill and intercept two guards.

“I mean, I’ll admit you’re not bad looking… But I’m more into dark and broody, you know? Like _your_ guy!” Sebastian says, before pausing for just a second and squinting at the ground, where a massive gush of water suddenly starts.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but has to concede that the rush of heavy water trailing after them and making it impossible for the guards to follow is pretty cool. “Blaine isn’t broody or dark.”

“What? What would you call his attitude last night?”

“That’s because he was talking to _you_!” Kurt shoots back with a glare as they reach the top, the portal fully visible only a few yards away. They ease into a steady jog.

“Okay, whatever. The brooding thing is optional. I can go for sweet, too, so long as he has that body.”

“Oh my god, just shut your mouth before I shoot you in the face.”

“You know, I had heard the rumors, but he certainly exceeds them. He really is sex on a stick. He’s even hotter now than when his face was everywhere and they were saying he’d been killed, and I had a crush _then_ ,” Sebastian says and Kurt acts before he thinks, his fist connecting to Sebastian’s jaw and sending him stumbling sideways.

Maybe living in that house and practicing combat methods everyday has changed him – a couple of months ago he would never have punched Sebastian, no matter how vile he was -, but there’s a tingling sense of strength and assertion settling on his stomach and he kind of likes it. Kurt doesn’t let himself linger as he continues to make his way to the portal, jaw clenched and fists balled up.

Unfortunately that’s also when his foots catches on something, and he stumbles forward. His hand barely manages to catch Sebastian’s wrist before he’s crashing to the ground, hip first and then it all happens too fast to even register it – there’s gold light, horrible discomfort all too familiar, and suddenly they’re tumbling down into cold, smooth snow, the sounds of explosions and gunshots left behind as well as the smell of smoke and blood.

The two of them lay very still for a moment.

“What just happened?” Sebastian gasps.

Kurt sits up, a something sharp digging into his hip, he cuts his finger on shards of glass as he digs them out of his pocket – Blaine’s portal. He looks around and a few yards away he can see the glow of Will’s portal and the voices of everyone else already crossing, some of them limping, some of them supporting others, but most of them okay.

“I…”

“Blaine made you a portal.” Sebastian gasps.

“That’s- No- I-”

“That’s so unbelievably against protocol it’s way too funny,” he chuckles obnoxiously, “I don’t even know if it’s too lame or just the right amount of cute. I can see what you mean when you say he’s not broody. You know, it’s not usually my thing, all the cheese and adorableness, but I could get into it, if it came from that package.”

“It’s like you were made to be obnoxious…” Kurt mutters under his breath, wondering what he ever did to deserve this. He springs to his feet and starts towards the front of the Inn.

“Woow!” He hears Sebastian shuffling to catch up to him, “You guys really don’t like it when I go for it, do you?”

Kurt shoots him a glare. There’s a slight bruise forming on the left side of Sebastian’s chin, but he doesn’t look the least bit bothered by it.

“Do you think I’ll have a better shot at Blaine if I stop acting like such a dick?” Sebastian grins, and Kurt just groans and sprints the rest of the way to everyone else is arriving, resolute to helping them.

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry! I’ll keep you adorable secret!” Sebastian calls after him and Kurt makes himself ignore it.

He scans over everyone’s faces as they come through, making sure they’re all alright. He finds Finn and Puck sporting a busted up lip and an eyebrow, respectively, but otherwise looking well. Rachel is trailing behind, holding Nick from Dalton, who’s limping over what’s either a broken or a badly sprained ankle. Santana comes afterwards, looking perfectly fine. Mike and Blaine are helping Trent who’s got a really bad gash on his leg.

Tina is approaching, looking mostly unharmed as the girls from Dalton trail after her, sporting only minor cuts and bruises.

“Kurt and Sebastian are the only-” Quinn says looking a little frantic and panicky, right after crossing. Her eyes land on Kurt and she deflates with relief, “Oh, you’re here! So that’s everyone,” she taps Will’s shoulder. He’s sitting cross legged with his eyes closed as if he’d been meditating.

“Everyone’s here. Close it.”

The light goes out and they’re left bathed in muted moonlight and the warm yellow light filtering through the windows and open doors of the Inn.

It leaves Kurt feeling a little shocked. Like suddenly everything’s stopped. The stress, the insanity, the fear. Everything’s stopped and he’s just standing there in the snow, outside a house and a little dizzy. It’s very similar to that first night he got here – to the sensation of crossing that portal, from a strange battlefield to this calmness. But something’s deeply, deeply different.

This time, Kurt knows everything that was going on. This time, he was a part of it and he wasn’t just fearing for his own life.

He stands there for a moment, still and utterly unable to discern the mess of feelings and thoughts inside of him. He knows there’s something coming – something big. He knows it’ll throttle over him sooner rather than later, and he knows that if he stands there one more second, it’ll hit him, smash him, destroy him.

With a shuddering breath he tries to push it away as best he can, and shuffles forward after to find Mike, Blaine and Trent where they’re still struggling to get him inside. He reaches them quickly only to find there’s nothing he can do to help.

“Hey there!” He smiles, and the three of them return it, even if Trent’s is strained and painful.

Kurt glances down to see the pool of blood staining his leg, and quickly averts his eyes, something about it making his stomach queasy in ways blood never really had before.

They lead Trent into the vacant bedroom where Emma is waiting and ready for whoever might need her help. He’s hissing and biting his lip, but the situation really doesn’t require so many people and Kurt wordlessly excuses himself. Something about the size of the room suddenly making it hard to breathe.

Kurt thinks that maybe if he keeps moving he can ignore it, but as soon as he’s reaching the living room again, hoping to find something he can be useful for and instead finding it practically empty and entirely too calm, he gags.

He keeps himself together, and nobody notices. He goes as fast as he can, without alerting anyone to it, towards the back door. As soon as he’s outside, tripping down the porch steps, he practically throws himself on the white, virgin snow and hurls.

He can feel the tears already spilling, and his throat hurts and his jaw feels like it might just drop off its hinges, and his chest is heaving to no avail, because he just keeps vomiting and he can’t breathe.

It takes a lot of time before it stops, and Kurt’s breathing is all about desperation and not getting enough air. His whole body is shaking and he almost lets himself just collapse on the snow, but instead manages to shuffle to the porch and sit on the middle step with his head between his legs.

He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, noticing for the first time in hours that he’s still wearing the guard’s uniform. There’s another wave of nausea, but he manages to hold it in, before letting out a long, shuddering breath.

“Wow, you know I was just messing with you about Blaine… I’m not really going to steal him away. There are other fish in the sea, even if they’re not as delicious. No need to panic,” a voice drawls from behind, and Kurt doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

“Fuck off.”

“Oy!” Sebastian gasps, standing against the door frame, the light from inside spilling over Kurt and making the other boy nothing but a tall, slim, backlit silhouette. “Overreact much?”

“Seriously, I’m not in the mood,” Kurt mumbles, before letting his head fall into his still trembling hands.

He can hear as Sebastian steps over and sits down next to Kurt. “So, what’s making you puke all over the back porch?”

Kurt considers insisting he fuck off, but it dies in his throat as he realizes exactly what’s shaking him to his core, “I can’t believe I killed people.”

“Oohh!” Sebastian feigns a surprised gasp, and then after a moment of silence adds, “So I guess you’re not one of those who settle for ‘better them than you’, huh?”

“No,” Kurt mutters, “I killed people and that’s… that’s that.”

“I guess that’s why you have the blue eyes and not me…” Sebastian shrugs with a sigh, completely comfortable with himself and his words.

“You like killing them?”

“Of course not. I just… I just do what I have to do to survive, and knowing that helps me sleep at night.”

“Back home I could never figure out if I was pro death penalty or not. Mostly, I would think it was just… barbaric. Other times it seemed like a the only thing to do, with certain… horrible crimes. But now… I just… I can’t believe I killed people, and I don’t care if they were bad people, I care that I killed them.” When he looks at Sebastian, he finds him… offended?

“This is not…” Sebastian stops himself with a deep frown. He looks on the verge of angry, but he reconsiders his words, “Listen, this is not us handing out death sentences to bad guys, Kurt.” He shakes his head and looks at Kurt like one would look at a child who’s just done something _stupid._ “Kurt, this is _war_.” He sits up a little straighter and his face has lost all trace of its usual leer. “We may try to kill as little of them as possible, but we can’t just decide we’re taking the higher ground or whatever and lay down on the dirt for them to kill _us_. Now, I know it’s a little shocking or whatever but it really _is_ either them or us. You can draw as many lines as you want and say you’re not gonna cross’em because you’re better than them, you can hold on to all your morals and your beliefs, but they’re not gonna give a shit about that. They’ll walk all over your lines and look for the most painful way to end you.”

“I… I just can’t think like that.”

“There are things worth dying for, and there are things worth _killing_ for.”

“Like what? Self-defense?”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows, and if he wasn’t angry before he certainly is now, “Did you see the state of those people we _saved_? Did you see their skin glued to their bones? Did you see their eyes or were they actually _too_ dead for you to care? You don’t think saving them is worth more than the lives of the cowards that put them in that state?”

“Revenge isn’t-”

“This is not _revenge_ ,” Sebastian interrupts, scoffing. “This is survival,” he declares with a scathing look, “And if you can’t understand the scale of this, I’m not sure I can help you…”

The thought that _Kurt_ would be underestimating the pain and devastation going across the land makes his face burn with anger, and he crosses his arms over his chest and straightens his back, matching Sebastian’s height, “I understand that people are _dying_ and-”

“No,” Sebastian spits, frustration and anger lacing his voice. “People are being murdered. There’s a big difference.”

Kurt’s comeback dies off in his tongue as he realizes he doesn’t actually have one. He stares at Sebastian with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. There’s a long silence as Kurt drops his eyes to his hands, realizing they’re not shaking anymore, and Sebastian just looks out into nothing.

When he speaks again, his voice is a lot calmer, kind even, “Kurt, I know. I really know it sucks that we have to do what we do, and yes, sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to wash the blood off my hands. But if I help one single person survive that horror… It’s worth it to me.” Sebastian sighs, looking mostly placated. The tension is almost gone when he smirks and adds, “And hey, if it means keeping your dream of a boyfriend alive for my viewing pleasure, man, I will do it everyday.”

Kurt groans and rolls his eyes, but he can’t help be a little relieved at the joke and he knows it shows. He avoids Sebastian’s eyes, lowering himself to rest his torso on his legs and hug them close from underneath. Next to him Sebastian shuffles to his feet, and his hand pats his shoulder a little fast and a lot awkward.

“You should probably ask your darling for some sleep serum, or you’ll be an insomniac zombie for months,” Sebastian says as way of goodbye and then disappears back into the Inn.

Kurt lets himself stay there for a couple more minutes. His body has stopped shaking, but he’s sure that soon enough the cold’s going to get it going again. When he knows it’s a second away, he finally breathes deeply and pulls himself up, turning back towards the door.

To his surprise, Blaine’s there, leaning against the door frame, with a steaming tea in one hand and a quilt in another. “You’ll freeze yourself to death over there,” he says as way of greeting.

“Exactly why I was going to go inside.” Kurt shrugs, going for nonchalance.

Blaine smiles, “Feeling better?”

“Did you hear the whole thing?”

“Enough…” Blaine nods, but doesn’t elaborate – he just keeps smiling and offers the tea to Kurt.

“Right…” He blushes, noticing the acid taste of vomit still in his mouth. He takes the mug and doesn’t wait much before he takes long sips – the scalding sensation actually soothing him. Meanwhile Blaine wraps the quilt around Kurt’s shoulders and rubs them warmer with friction. Kurt lets himself fall against Blaine’s steady frame. “Just promise me one thing,” he says.

“Anything.” Blaine nods without hesitation and Kurt can’t help smiling and practically swooning.

He buries his nose in Blaine’s curls, “When I’m gone and you inevitably move on and fall in love again… never go for Sebastian. Please.”

Blaine’s laughter startles him and he can’t help pulling back a little just to watch. “Okay…” Blaine says with a not so solemn nod.

“Thank you.” Kurt leans in for a kiss, but Blaine dodges it and kisses Kurt’s forehead, a little off center, instead.

“Brush your teeth first,” he teases.

“Oh! I can’t believe I forgot!” Kurt gasps, feeling a little heat creeping up his cheeks.

Blaine kisses his forehead again and says, “And then come meet me in my bedroom?”

“Hm, yeah, sure.” Kurt nods before he shuffles away.

“Kurt?” Blaine calls.

“Yes?” he pauses and turns.

“I love you; everything about you, right _now_ ,” Blaine tells him calmly, and Kurt knows what it’s about. He lets the words settle into his chest and sooth his aching heart a little. It’s not enough – it’s not nearly enough, but it’s something.

He manages a small smile. “I love you, too.”

Of course, he doesn’t just brush his teeth. He shakes off the filthy uniform and all but incinerates it. In the shower, he scrubs himself clean until his skin is red and burning. Afterwards, he spends stretched out minutes sitting naked on his bed, starring ahead as he wonders if he knows who he is, anymore.

Finally, he shakes it off as much as he can (it isn’t a lot), and puts on clean, simple clothes and leaves, barefoot, to Blaine’s room, craving the warmth of his bed, and the comfort of his arms. When he comes in, Blaine’s hair is damp, and he’s only got a towel around his waist, a sight that leaves Kurt significantly flustered and distracted – though it’s still not nearly enough to make it all go away.

“Are you trying to comfort me with nakedness…?” Kurt sighs, dropping to Blaine’s bed and watching as he moves around the bedroom, picking up clothes, “Because that could work.”

Blaine chuckles, but shakes his head, “Temporarily…” he points out, as he pulls on his underwear and only then shucks off the towel and picks up a light shirt, sliding it over his arms on his way to joining Kurt on the bed.

They move until they’re both seated with crossed legs, facing each other with their knees touching.

“So, words of wisdom for me?”

Blaine gives him a small smile and a shrug, “Not really… not anything Sebastian didn’t already say…”

“You agree with him?”

Blaine nods, his smile a little sad. “Maybe I wouldn’t use those words, or… you know, get angry at you, but yeah. He’s right.”

“How did you feel?” Kurt prompts, “The first time you had to kill someone.”

“Pretty much the same as you…?” Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand and starts playing with his fingers. “Pretty much the same as everyone in this house. And he may talk a big talk, but I bet he freaked out as much as you did.” He squeezes Kurt’s hand, “I couldn’t eat for a week, I couldn’t sleep until I started taking sleep serum, and I haven’t been able to stop taking it for more than a couple of nights at a time.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a serum – you take a sip before going to bed and you get a full night’s sleep with no dreams or nightmares. It’s what we injected into the guards tonight. It’s not ideal, because the body should be getting _natural_ sleep, but… it’s better than nothing.”

Kurt hangs his head at the prospect of endless nightmares, but he can’t help feeling like he deserves them a little bit. He feels like taking the serum might be copping out of his responsibility as someone who’s killed people.

He doesn’t notice until Blaine’s hand is at the back of his neck that he’s leaning in. Blaine kisses him slowly, and pulls away. “You were amazing tonight. I’m so proud to be with you.”

“I feel disgusting.”

“No… not at all…” Blaine mumbles. “Am I disgusting? I’ve killed people, too, a lot more than you have.”

“No.” Kurt shakes his head – because it’s true. He’s always known that about Blaine, from the very first time they met. “But… I don’t think of you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like someone who’s killed people.” Kurt can’t meet Blaine’s eyes as he admits it, “You did what you had to do, and I get that. But you’re _Blaine_ – you’re not a killer. I know you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m _not_. But neither are you.”

“I wish I could feel like that.”

“You will, in time.” Blaine smiles, and holds both of Kurt’s hands in his, “I told you, we’ve all been there, and you learn to cope. Every single person in this house knows what you’re going through, so all you have to do, when it gets a little harder, is talk to one of us and we’ll help you through it. You’re not alone.”

“Thank you…”

“And for all that’s worth, Sebastian was absolutely right. This is a war. I know sometimes we forget, because we’re so far away, and because there isn’t exactly an open conflict going on, but we _are_ at war.”

“And all’s fair in love and war?” Kurt offers with a humorless chuckle.

“No,” Blaine says at once, “But it _is_ different. People make choices – they chose their side and we chose ours, and now we have to see it through, even if it means death.” He gives a little shrug that’s anything but casual, and offers a sad smile, “There are many things I’m ashamed of and regret having done, but if I did them is because I had to, and if that’s what it takes to end this hell we’re living through, then… I guess I’d feel guiltier if I hadn’t done those things.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” Blaine squeezes Kurt’s knee soothingly, “Just because something isn’t one hundred per cent right, doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

“Choosing the lesser evil?” Kurt breathes, and tries to let his stomach unknot a little bit more.

“Something like that.” Blaine smiles sadly, “But I don’t think what we did tonight was a lesser evil. What we did today was _good_. One hundred per cent good. We saved thousands of people, Kurt. And I’ll say it again and keep saying it until you don’t need me to, you were wonderful out there, and this was _your_ plan and it’s worked better than any other camp raid we’ve ever done, and I’m so very proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

Blaine reaches out with one hand to hold Kurt’s chin and make him look up. “And I love you,” he says with fierce, honest eyes.

“I love you, too,” Kurt breathes with the smile he manages.

“I have something for you.” Blaine reaches into the first drawer of his bedside table, curling his hand around something, “I knew you’d have some trouble adjusting to it, so… I don’t know, I thought you could use something to remind you of yourself.” He smiles shyly as he carefully opens his hand between them. In the middle of his palm, a swirl of delicate silver chain pools, and Kurt frowns, picking it up and watching as it unfurls until a small, pale colored charm of a several, similar white flowers on a green stem is hanging, gently swinging in the air, between them. Kurt can’t identify the pearly, delicately wispy flower or it’s beautifully interlaced light pale green stem that runs straight down as the gorgeous blossoms sprout throughout its length, as if they were braided with each other. The biggest one, in the center, holds a small, clear and bright diamond in its middle, and Kurt gasps, realizing at once what he’s holding.

“A soul necklace?!”

“If you want it.” Blaine’s cheeks are a little red, and his eyes are fidgety as he bites his lip, “I didn’t know what your favorite flower was, but… I just… I thought this one fit you so well.”

Kurt’s glad Blaine didn’t ask, because he might have just found his new favorite flower, “What are they?”

“Gladiolus.” Blaine opens his hand and a bouquet of full-sized white flowers spring to life right then and there, “They symbolize strength of character.”

“Oh…!”

“Which is one of those things you have in abundance, and sometimes I’m just left reeling… in awe of you. You’re so beautiful, gentle, and compassionate, like those flowers, but then you’re also so unbelievably strong and fierce, like the strong, braided stem that keeps them together…”

“Oh my god, Blaine,” Kurt gasps, twirling the chain around his fingers so he can look closer at the flowers.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Kurt gasps, “Oh my god, I love it so much.”

“Good. Because I’d like you to have something to keep after all of this, something to remember us by when you go back home.” Blaine reaches out to take Kurt’s hand in his. “And I knew if I made it a bluebird you’d pretty much break up with me and maybe even kill me,” he adds with a playful grin.

Kurt lets himself laugh at that because it’s easier than thinking about the implied inevitability of their separation a couple of months from now. When the thought creeps dangerously close still, he pulls Blaine in for a long kiss.

“Put it on me, please,” he asks as they pull apart, handing it back to Blaine and turning until the back of his neck is offered to Blaine. A shiver runs down his spine as the silver chain drags delicately across his skin, and then again as Blaine’s fingers brush the nape of his hair. When the charm rests peacefully against the middle of Kurt’s chest, Blaine’s fingers disappear but a pair of lips connects with that same flushed skin. Kurt sighs deeply, letting his body chase the feeling.

“I’ll never say goodbye to you…” Kurt murmurs, not bearing to turn around and face how impossible a promise that is.

“Okay,” is all that Blaine says, before wrapping an arm around Kurt, pulling him flush, and pushing the fabric of shirt away so he can press his lips to every inch Kurt’s shoulder, over and over again.


	16. The Guilt in the Blue Bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Character death, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Kurt wakes up to the sound of knocking. There are strong arms around him, and calm breathing on the back of his neck tickling his skin and his hair. He pulls Blaine closer to him, choosing to ignore whoever woke him up. Blaine stirs a little bit awake, but doesn’t move until there’s more knocking and the sound of the doorknob being turned to no avail.

With a long, frustrated sigh, Blaine rolls calmly and slowly out of bed, clearly annoyed at the sound of someone not understanding the meaning of a locked door. Kurt’s careful to pull the covers over his own body. Blaine’s heat is suddenly gone so he turns to snuggle the warm, free pillow; he doesn’t have the mind or the time to remind Blaine that he’s only wearing his underwear before the lock’s finally clicking and he’s pulling the door a few inches open, “Yes?” his voice his still rough with sleep and a little impatience.

“Morning,” Will’s voice says, and immediately Kurt tenses under the sheets, wondering if it would be too noticeable if he just pulled them over his head and made a cocoon for himself. It’s partly ridiculous, but Kurt’s never really managed to shake the feeling Will’s like a chaperone teacher on a very prolonged school trip, taking care of all these young adults. “You should get dressed and eat something before we deal with Jesse. Sue will be here soon enough.”

Blaine yawns, “Will, it’s…” he looks at his wrist but finds it bare, “…early. Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, of course I’m serious. This needs to be dealt with at once.”

Blaine groans, his grip on the door faltering a little. It swings open enough for Will’s eyes to land on Kurt’s figure on the bed. He does his best not to budge an inch or show any hint of embarrassment. Will, on the other hand, turns a violent shade of red at once. Not even noticing, Blaine just readjusts his grip and huffs out, “Fine… give me fifteen minutes to get dressed.” Before he closes the door practically in Will’s shocked face.

“Oh god…” Kurt mutters, not really sure what to think of it.

Blaine gives him a bitter smile. “Go back to sleep, Kurt,” he says, bending over for a small peck on the lips.

“I don’t know if I can…” Kurt mumbles, “Will just saw me in your bed, while you talked to him practically naked.”

“He already knew about us.” Blaine shrugs dismissively.

“He did?”

“Huh,” he pauses, and frowns, before he shoots Kurt a sheepish smile, “I don’t know, probably not, but who cares? Just ignore it.” He shrugs as he grabs a pair of pants from his closet, “Seriously, Kurt, go back to sleep. It’s barely been four hours since we went to bed.”

“I…” _don’t think I can actually sleep without you here_ , “Okay…”

Blaine smiles fondly, as he puts on a shirt, and goes over to the bed, “I’ll come wake you up after you’ve slept an appropriate amount of hours.” He kisses Kurt’s forehead and lips quickly before he leaves, closing the door carefully behind himself.

The room is barely lit, some light coming in through the window, but heavily filtered and dimmed down by the thick curtains. Kurt lets himself fall back onto the bed, curling into himself, going back to the exact same position he’d been before Will woke them up. It’s a little colder and less calming without Blaine there. His eyes are wide open now, and he mostly just stares at the wall in front of him.

He forces his eyes closed, at some point, and for a moment there, he nearly falls asleep, only to wake up in a jolt as the faces of the dead soldiers stare back at him where white wall used to be.

He breathes through the panic and blinks away the tears stinging his eyes. With a deep breath, he rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling instead, not daring to close his eyes again. After a while he can’t stand to just lie there waiting for the nightmares to come. He throws the covers off himself, and collects his clothes from the floor, pulling it on in nervous, frantic movements. After running his fingers through his hair, to get it to look presentable again, he yanks the door open, eager to watch whatever’s left of Jesse’s interrogation.

As he crosses the door, he nearly crashes into Santana, who puts her hand on his chest and pushes back, keeping him at arm’s length and then gasping, “Oh wow…!”

“What?” he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I knew you were, you know, together, but I didn’t know you were actually doing-the-nasty-together,” she says, with a quirked eyebrow.

“It’s none of your business,” Kurt bites back, not in the mood for passive-aggressive bullshit, “It would be, if you just stopped being… _you know_ … but as it is, I couldn’t care less what you think, and I could do without a dose of your bitching today.”

She rolls her eyes. “Relax…, shit… A person can’t even comment on recent developments without getting bulldozed with bitterness.”

“You and Sebastian must’ve taken the same workshop in obnoxiousness.” Kurt shakes his head, walking around her without a second glance.

He’s almost at the end of the corridor when she calls out after him, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

He falters. He almost goes back and tells her he does, but somehow the answer “We’re taking it one day at a time” seems childish and naïve. He’d be lying if he said he knew what he was doing. In fact, he thinks, he’d be lying if he said _they_ knew what _they_ were doing. With a clenched jaw, he keeps walking away from her.

He reaches the door to the basement at the same time as Sam is leaving.

“Hey,” he greets, “Do you think I could go in and watch?”

“Yeah, I think you’re cool.” Sam nods, and goes back to the door. “I’ll go ask Will.”

“Who’s in there?” Kurt asks.

“Sue hasn’t arrived so we’re not asking questions, yet. We’re just standing there all intimidating and stuff.” Sam shrugs. “It’s just me, Puck, Will and Blaine. I’ll be right back.”

Sam opens the door and slides in, leaving Kurt alone and staring at the dark paneled wood for a good minute, feeling like he’ll never feel entirely comfortable with himself again.

When Sam returns, he waves him in, but walks around him to leave. “Gotta go pee,” he informs Kurt without any real prompting, and Kurt just nods and offers him a smile, without really knowing why. Once the door is closed again, he walks down to the bottom of the steps, to find Jesse bound tightly to a chair, with ropes that give off a strange glow, while Puck, Blaine and Will, just stand on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and facing their captive. Sam really wasn’t kidding about just standing there “all intimidating and stuff”.

He clears his throat and all eyes land on him, though there seems to be a concerted effort not to react much, and Kurt understands that if he’s going to be there, he needs to get with the program. He walks to stand next to Puck, crosses his arms over his chest, leans his back up against the wall and crosses one leg over the other.

Jesse eyes him with a sort of a sneer.

“What’s up, ghost boy?”

Kurt frowns at once. “Ghost boy? Because I’m pale? That’s the best you got?”

“Oh, you’re so much tougher, are you, princess?”

“Princess? Wow, you’re really laying it on me, aren’t you?”

“I fig-”

“Shut the fuck up.” Puck’s voice is impressively intimidating, even as he says it calmly, without budging an inch from his relaxed stance.

“You think I’m afraid of you?” Jesses cocks his head to the side, “I know you’re not gonna do anything to me. I know you’re not gonna hurt me, and I definitely know you’re not gonna kill me.”

“I don’t know…” Puck sighs, “Last night went so well I barely got any good punches in… I’ve got a lot of pent up anger to work through.”

Blaine chuckles at that, “Not me, though. I got a few good ones yesterday. Didn’t I, Jesse?”

“Yes, yes, you beat me, I get it, I suck, whatever, who cares,” Jesse groans, throwing his head back as if he was just that bored.

Blaine shrugs and smirks, “I care a little bit.”

“You should, man.” Pucks nods, clapping Blaine on the shoulder, “You kicked his ass, last night. Fuck, it was a fun show to watch.”

“Thank you, Puckerman.” Blaine smiles, bringing a hand to his chest and nodding in exaggerated gratitude.

To Kurt’s surprise, Jesse does look mildly put off by the exchange. “Wow, it’s really easy to get to you, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off…”

“Oh my god…!” Kurt laughs, quickly joined by the other three men, while Jesse just sits there gritting his teeth and flushing red. Sam returns in the midst of it and looks mildly confused, so Kurt supplies, “Jesse’s little ego is adorably fragile. It’s hilarious how easy it is to get him squirming.”

“Oh, yeah. Arrogant little bitches are like that.” He nods, ruffling Jesse’s hair on the way back to his place against the wall.

The door’s yanked open, upstairs, and Santana quickly appears turning the corner, “Sue’s arrived. Should I bring her in, or do you want to talk to her first?”

“I should have a word.” Will nods before, pushing himself off the wall and going upstairs.

Santana lingers, watching Jesse for a moment. “I’d really love to punch you right now,” she says, “So much.” She tilts her head sideways, evaluating the situation, she purses her lips, squints her eyes and says, “Heck, why not, heh?” In two strides she’s right next to him, her fist connecting with his nose to the sound of crushing bone. “Fuck, that was one good punch,” she says, pulling back her hand and shaking it.

Jesse’s nose is suddenly pouring thick, dark blood as he gasps for breath.

Puck, Sam and Blaine don’t even budge from their places on the wall, so Kurt also refrains from reacting in any way. Santana, stands for another moment, enjoying her handiwork, before turning on her heel, her long ponytail whipping behind her, and walking back out of there while Jesse remains straining against his restraints and howling in pain, the word bitch somewhere in the jumble of nonsense streaming out of his mouth.

It’s only by the time that Will finally returns, Sue trailing after him, that Jesse has somewhat calmed down. Will falters in his steps as he notices the bloodied state of Jesse’s front, but doesn’t comment on it. Sue, however, takes one long look and lets out a long whistle, “Looks like someone beat me to the punch.” She clicks her tongue, “Not the best pun, but had to use it.”

“Fuck this…” Jesse groans.

“Oh, and didn’t you? All fucked up real nice, huh?” Sue gets out through gritted teeth, “Tell me the sob story, come on! I wanna know! Did they threaten to burn out your little nest of product infested hair and keep your bean shaped head shiny and bald, because it’s not like you care about anyone else other than you, so we know for sure there’s not much they can use against you.”

“They offered me safety and a guarantee of freedom,” he says, jutting his chin out and perhaps aiming to look a little bit dignified.

“And you bought it?” Sue cringed, “I can’t believe I ever let you in the Resistance! We usually require active brains for that!”

“Alright…” Will cuts in, “Now, you’re right, we’re not going to beat you up or kill you, but… you know this basement is just here for whatever use we might have for it, so it’s not like we _can’t_ afford to keep you here forever. You might as well tell us all about it, since you’re never going to see your new friends again.”

Sue tsks, “Will is being a big softie again, isn’t he?” She shakes her head and pinches his nose hard and fast. Jesse howls in pain, jerking his head back as much as possible. She lets it go and watches eagerly as he recovers.

“I only told them about the camp raid,” Jesse sighs, “I didn’t even tell them much about the milky princess over there. Not anything they didn’t already know, anyway. Everything else, was about the Carmel cell… they’re the fucked ones, cuz I don’t even know much about you guys, and I only said the bare minimum anyway. They didn’t use the stupid witch, so I didn’t say anything beyond what I was asked.”

“Oh, wow, aren’t you the picture of loyalty,” Kurt deadpans and Jesse shoots him a scathing look that falls spectacularly flat, given the circumstances.

“How do we know you’re not lying to us?” Blaine levels.

“What’s the point?” Jesse lets out in a whiny tone that makes Kurt want to punch him again, “Why would I lie to you? All I wanted from them was to be on my own and free, and I’m clearly not getting that, so whatever. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Were you on your own and free?” Will frowns, clearly skeptical, “With them?”

“I was supposed to guard the camp last night, and then they said they’d let me go away… wherever I wanted to go.”

“And you believed them? Who did you even negotiate with?” Sue demands.

Jesse smirks before his eyes flick over to Blaine and he says, “Daddy dearest.”

Blaine smiles back, acid and cold, “Aw, did he send his love? Fuck you and get to the point. How do we know you’re not lying to us and sending us into another trap? Give me permission to see it for myself and then maybe we can talk freedom…”

Jesse gives him a glare ad shakes his head, “I’m not going to just let you poke around, no way. Take my word for it.”

“Your word? Because it’s clearly so… valued.” Blaine squints back.

“Paranoid much? Seriously, for all I knew the rumor floating around the Carmel cell that you guys were planning to strike for real could be bogus, or you could’ve changed your minds as well, I just heard some stuff from what Will told Sue, so I didn’t have much to tell them, it’s not like I could have given them a detailed plan, and you know, they’re very fond of details, obvi-” He shuts up suddenly. His face a sudden mask of shock, grief and overwhelming dread, “No…” he gasps, “No… No, fuck, NO! NO!!” His screams are desperate as he struggles against his restraints with so much drive that Kurt can see the ropes digging into his skin and tearing at it, Jesse’s blood staining it dark red.

Everyone pulls back confused and startled, but Will and Blaine don’t. Blaine walks a little further, closer to Jesse and bends over until they’re eye to eye. As he looks at Jesse fighting the ropes that have lost their glow but not their hold, screaming and crying, Blaine’s face becomes somber, even a little sad. “They killed her, didn’t they? Your totem, they killed her.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no…” Jesse repeats without pause, not even to breathe, as tears, blood and spit mix together and make a mess of his face.

“I hope it was worth it,” Blaine says after a long while of just Jesse’s sobs filling the silence.

No response but desperate grief.

“We’re not going to get anything out of him right now.” Blaine turns to the others, “We might as well just leave him to it.”

Will nods, his expression just as heavy, and calmly ushers the group out of the basement. “It’s just no use… we’ll wait a couple of hours,” he says as he closes the door behind himself, “Sue, maybe we could talk a little bit more?”

She nods wordlessly and leads the way down the corridor, while the others just stand there, a little unsure of what to do with themselves.

Sam eyes Kurt and Blaine for a moment before tilting his head and smirking, “So, you guys gonna go make out now?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shrugs, “are you and Mercedes going to go make gooey eyes at each other and do nothing about it?”

Sam keeps their gaze for a long moment before he gives Blaine a good-natured boyish smile and walks away in silence, while Puck just laughs.

“I’m actually thinking of taking a nap because waking up after what, two hours of sleep, the morning after a camp raid? It’s just wrong,” Blaine supplies with a halfhearted laugh, before he takes Kurt’s hand and starts walking.

“You don’t need him for napping,” Pucks calls after them and while Kurt can feel his face heating up, Blaine looks completely unperturbed as he keeps walking.

They’re nearly there when Santana steps out of her room, fully dressed with a thick coat and winter boots, and a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Wha-where are you going?” Blaine frowns.

She seems taken aback for a moment, startled into looking fleetingly guilty, before she catches herself, “I thought you were supposed to be with the backstabbing bitch downstairs.”

“They just killed his totem, we’re letting him cry himself out,” Blaine says dismissively, “Where are you going?”

She rolls her eyes, and affects a bored expression, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m just going to go check on the camp survivors, see if Britt’s there.”

“Oh,” Blaine gasps, completely mollified, “I… I hope you find her.”

“Yeah. Well. See you in a couple of days, I guess.” She shrugs, turning away with a clenched jaw.

“D-Do you have a portal?” Blaine calls after her.

“No, I figured I’d walk…” she drawls, “Of course. I had that little shit from yesterday make me one before he went back to Dalton.”

“What about Will? Does he know where you’re going?”

“He’s not my dad, and neither are you. I’ll be back, don’t piss yourself over it.”

“Oh, hm, yeah, okay. I… Good luck, San.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on her face before she just nods and walks away.

Kurt can see the worry and the anxiety etched onto Blaine’s face as he watches her leave. He squeezes his hand softly, and guides him gently to the bedroom. “Do you even want to talk about it?” Kurt asks, realizing that since she’s stopped speaking to him, Blaine has not once talked about his fight with Santana.

“Not really.” Blaine shakes his head, not even attempting his usual placating smile. “I really just want to sleep for a bit,” he says, “You don’t have to join me if you don’t want, I just thought…”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep earlier… I… I think I’m starting to have nightmares about it and…”

“I can give you something for it.” Blaine opens a cabinet drawer and takes out a medium sized glass bottle filled with the same blue liquid they’d been injecting the guards with, “A sip before you go to sleep.”

“I…” _I can’t do that because it would still feel like a cop out, right now_. “Yeah, okay.” He doesn’t drink though.

He watches as Blaine picks up a flask from the top drawer of his nightstand and takes a quick sip himself, before putting it back and closing the drawer. He strips his pants, and climbs into bed, while Kurt joins him half on autopilot. Once they’re both settled into each other arms, Kurt lets his fingers dip into Blaine’s soft curls, and smiles at the hum of pleasure it elicits. Soon enough, Blaine’s breathing has evened out and the hand on Kurt’s chest has gone slack.

Kurt, however, remains awake.

-x-

They only go back to questioning Jesse the next day, when everyone has mostly reset their sleeping schedules and he’s gone from hysterical, and then catatonic to, finally, miserable but able to talk. Surprisingly, Tina is the least sympathetic out of everyone, and she’s the one asking the questions and refusing half-assed answers. When Kurt asks her about it in his most timid, hesitant voice, she says, “I don’t wish that sort of pain on my worst enemy, but he was aiming to kill last night. You don’t use magic for that, ever. You just don’t. It’s the worst crime you can commit against your own gift. It’s taking something beautiful and making it disgusting,” she says, “He disrespected everything about being an enchanter, so, I don’t think he deserved his gift, and I’m glad it’s gone.”

“What… what about Blaine and Sebastian? I know for a fact they’ve killed.”

“Not with magic, they haven’t. I mean, I don’t know about Sebastian, but Blaine’s like me.”

“Oh… okay, I guess that makes some sense…” Kurt shrugs, pushing the rest of lunch around the plate without much appetite.

She finishes her food and says, “I gotta go back. Are you coming?”

“No… I don’t think so. I’m a little tired of just watching.”

Tina chuckles sympathetically before she stands and clears her plate, leaving him alone at the dining table. He looks at his plate with a sigh, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably at the sight of food, and gives up altogether, before he too clears the rest of the table and brings it in the kitchen where Joe is calmly whistling, tidying everything up. Kurt almost offers to help, but he really doesn’t want to be with Joe, whom he barely knows, right now, and instead, knowing that he can’t let himself be alone with his thoughts either, makes his way to Blaine’s room, picks up the worn book on his nightstand, and goes to the back porch, wrapping a quilt tightly around himself and carefully opens the book on its first page.

_Stranger Things_

_Chapter one…_

He doesn’t manage to read it in one sitting, because his hands are starting to turn purple from the cold, and he knows if he stays outside any longer, he’ll freeze or catch a cold, and it’s not even like he still has enough light, as the sun sets gently over the hills. But he still feels a little calmer. He goes inside and puts the book on his own nightstand, smiling as he trails a finger over the torn edges of its covers. He’s only a third of the book in and it already makes so much sense why Blaine would choose it as his favorite.

He considers staying there for the night, because he’s aware that sleeping with Blaine every single night is probably not the best idea, but at least when he’s with Blaine, he can focus on his breathing or running fingers through his curls, instead of just laying there, drenched in cold sweat and completely alone in overwhelming panic. He curls his hand around the necklace, and that gesture alone is enough to soothe him significantly.

Feeling calm enough, he ventures towards the kitchen where Mercedes and Sam are happily making dinner. He almost spins on his heel and gets the hell out of there, but he really could use the distraction and the light-hearted company, so he offers his hands to help and Sam lets out a triumphant bark and offers him the knife and the bowl of unpeeled potatoes he’d been starting to work on and announces to Mercedes that he needs a new task.

She sighs and says, “Might as well, you’re the worst potato peeler ever.” His smile doesn’t even flinch. Kurt doesn’t think twice before picking up the knife and staring to work through the bowl of potatoes, and they work amidst happy conversation and a few laughs.

Kurt falls a little bit in love with watching those two together. Mercedes is absolutely insane if she actually thinks Sam is only into her because he’s short on options at the moment. The way he looks at her is like she hung the moon, the sun, the earth, and pretty much anything that makes his life possible.

The food is almost ready when they decide that Jesse’s said everything they wanted to know, and the meal is quiet, but remarkably peaceful.

-x-

“What’s going to happen to Jesse?” Kurt asks, sitting by Blaine’s desk, teeth already brushed and delaying the inevitable moment of going to bed and staying up all night.

Blaine huffs as he practically throws himself on his bed and says, “We’ll probably just open up a portal for him to go wherever.” He rubs the bridge of his nose, “I mean, we’ll erase his memories from the last couple years, first…”

“You can do that?” Kurt gasps.

“Now that he’s not a wizard, we can. It’s not easy, though, but very possible. If he’d been a wizard we’d need his permission to do it, but since his magic is gone…”

Kurt chuckles at that, “I have no idea what’s easy or not for you… Not that long ago, Jesse was throwing fireballs at you and you were sprouting vines off the ground…”

“We were handling the natural elements and that’s what comes easiest for us – to deal directly with nature, either creating or manipulating it. Other than that, we can’t create all that much, at least not without enchantments that vary in degrees of difficulty. I mean, I can do this,” Blaine’s pillow vanishes reappearing on Kurt’s lap, “but I can’t just make it disappear completely, create it out of nothing, or turn it into something else. Outside of the four elements, I can only work with things as they _are_. Everything else involves mediums that allow us to do whatever it is we want to do. For example, when you gave me your dad’s hat, I had to use a specific powder and an enchantment… And besides, dealing with people, in all their intricacies and unpredictability… it’s the hardest, by far. It’s only possible on non-magical people, or magical people willing to let us into their minds, which of course isn’t very common, and it still takes a lot more than squinting my eyes at them.”

“Right, right…” Kurt nods, surprising himself at accepting it without confusion and thinking it actually makes _sense_ , “That’s what those books are all about?” He gestures towards the shelves.

“Most of them.” Blaine yawns, and they exchange smiles.

Kurt gets up and crosses the bedroom towards Blaine’s wardrobe, from which he takes Blaine’s folded pajamas and brings it back to him. “I started on that favorite book of yours.”

“Yeah?” Blaine accepts his clothes with a grin and a kiss to Kurt’s nearest body part – elbow, “Like it so far?”

“It makes sense that you’d like it,” Kurt muses as he replaces Blaine’s hands with his, working the buttons on Blaine’s shirt open.

“Yeah, but do _you_ like it?” Blaine insists, letting the fabric slide down his arms and discarding the shirt onto his desk.

“So far, so good.” He shrugs, mostly teasing, as he yanks his own shirt over his head and unbuttons his pants.

“I’m glad. There’s plenty more where that came from, if you want to keep reading stuff that’s not… you know, an information overload,” Blaine offers as he opens his top drawer and takes out his little flask. Kurt watches, a little transfixed and he sips it. Even with all their impromptu sleepovers before getting together, he’d never realized that Blaine used sleep serum, let alone so frequently. He’s yanked out of it when Blaine looks up at him and tilts the flask towards Kurt with a questioning expression. Hesitating, Kurt shakes his head.

If he has an opinion on the subject, Blaine keeps it to himself and puts the flask away.

He helps Kurt out of his pants, and once Blaine is in pajamas and Kurt is in his underwear they climb into bed, immediately finding each other’s arms and chasing the warmth. Blaine runs a careful finger over Kurt’s forehead, pushing stray hairs away, and then brushes a thumb over the circles growing darker under Kurt’s eyes, before he kisses the tip of his nose.

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Blaine,” Kurt replies just as the lights go out and Blaine holds him that tiny bit closer.

Kurt closes his eyes. The peacefulness and the almost sleep lasts for about an hour. The moment that his mind does tip into slumber, he jolts awake with a scream, drenched in sweat. His heart beats furiously against his ribcage and it feels like he’ll never be able to breathe again.

Blaine tries to shush him back to sleep for a moment before he just wraps his arms tight around Kurt’s body, easing his panic back to calmness. The process repeats itself for another two nights before Kurt shakes his head and decides to move to his bedroom. Blaine catches his wrist – and pulls him back.

“I can’t keep doing this to you,” Kurt frowns, “You’re not getting any sleep either, and-”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, “I told you, I’ve been there and I’m not going to let you go through it alone. So, if you’re still not going to take the serum, I’m going to be here every time you have a nightmare or a panic attack.”

“Blaine – I…”

“Come back here.” Kurt lets himself be pulled back underneath warm covers, “Hand me the book, please.” He hands Blaine the book and Blaine opens it on the marked page before he starts reading in a calm soothing voice.

The night after that Kurt knows better than to run, but he pretends to fall easily asleep. He keeps his breathing deep and slow until he’s sure Blaine’s slipped under. He lays awake listening to Blaine’s steady heartbeat and getting a little too hot in the mess of limbs everywhere. He tries closing his eyes and forcing himself to fall asleep, but as soon as he starts trying he gives up, not wanting to chance another nightmare to wake both of them up and render yet another night into complete despair. He looks up and even in the darkness of Blaine’s bedroom, barely lit by moonlight streaming through the window, he can see deep, dark circles under Blaine’s eyes, almost bad enough to match his own.

He doesn’t even feel human anymore. It’s been nearly a week since he slept a full night – hell, since he slept more than two hours in a row, and he thinks something inside of him might be cracking. Just this morning he could swear, for a split second, he looked out the window to a sea of corpses. He broke the glass in hand, and considered if he could drown in the blood gushing out. Sam found him rooted to the spot, looking at the dark red without knowing exactly what to think of it, and guided him gently to Mercedes. When he came back he saw Blaine scrubbing the blood stains on the carpet with a deep frown.

The day before he’d found himself slicing an apple into a million tiny little pieces, and when there’s was no more apple to slice, the knife drove into hard wood, digging lines into it, until Rachel noticed and gently pried it out of his hands, looking a little scared.

He’s just not sure what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Everything is blurred, and his thoughts are getting stranger, darker, scarier. His mind might as well be on fire.

If only he could just stop thinking. Stop feeling.

It’s probably something around two hours before he gives up and starts carefully extricating himself from Blaine’s embrace. It’s not flawless, and Blaine wakes up somewhat, mumbling, “Wazwrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m just going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep.”

Blaine just closes his eyes again and nuzzles the pillow, his breathing reverting immediately back to even and deep. The sight is adorable and beautiful, but Kurt can barely crack a smile at that. He does as he said and closes the bathroom door behind himself, hoping that there’ll be some kind of answer to his insanity in the water he washes his face with. As he stares at his reflection in the mirror, water dripping off his face, he accepts the fact that it’s just as answerless as it is colorless.

Behind him, there are faces, blood streaming down bullet wounds, dead center in the middle of their foreheads. He holds his scream inside and closes his eyes – wills them to go away, but they don’t – not the first or the second time. He turns around and sighs with relief at the white, empty wall staring back at him.

Maybe he should just take the damn serum and be done with it.

The thought tightens his chest and makes his stomach churn with guilt. He’s paralyzed without knowing what to do and lets himself sit on the edge of the bathtub and stare at the floor while every inch of him shakes.

He doesn’t know how long it is before he’s yanked out of his silent breaking with a door opening – Blaine’s bedroom door. Someone’s coming inside the bedroom.

“Santana?” he hears Blaine’s sleepy voice. Silence. “Santana? San! What- what happened?” Silence. “Come here… com’ere.” Gross, loud, desperate sobbing.

Kurt is rooted to the spot. He can’t for the life of him open the door and step out into that bedroom. But if there was a time to make his presence known to Santana, this would be it.

He has a hand on the doorknob when Santana lets out a thick, “Fuck this! Fuck everything! I hate them! I hate them! I hate my life!”

Kurt pulls back as if the metal was scalding. He couldn’t possibly go in there. As he hears Blaine’s calm voice hushing her, Kurt turns out the light in the bathroom so it doesn’t show through the crack, and slides his back against the door, letting himself sit on the cold tiled floor. It’s not like the dark is any scarier than the light right now. At least if there’s no light he can’t see the faces.

It’s a long time, that Kurt has no way of quantifying, before Blaine speaks again. Santana’s sobs seem to have subsided somewhat and he asks her, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

She sighs. “I think you were right, Blaine. There was nothing we could’ve done to save her, and I kept telling myself that there was, but it’s just…”

“So she wasn’t with the survivors?”

“She never even got to the camp.” Her voice is pained, like she might start crying again soon, and there’s a moment of what might be deep breaths before she says, “At first, it seemed like no one knew who she was – I kept asking them and they kept telling me they had no idea. I thought maybe they’d been transported to another camp… maybe… I kept asking and I kept hoping, and after a while I wanted them to tell me they didn’t know her, because that meant she might still be somewhere else. But then I found a couple of them, who got arrested with her… And I asked them…” She stops and sucks in a breath so deep and so shaky that Kurt can hear every single part of it through the door, “You know how she is… You know she just… doesn’t – didn’t, fuck – didn’t consider her words or… anything really. She just said whatever popped into her mind and that was that. It turns out being held at gunpoint didn’t do much to stop that.”

“Oh, fuck…” Blaine’s voice is completely shocked. Completely lost.

“Yeah, she was dead before they even got to the camp.” Kurt can feel his whole body going numb at those words. He closes his eyes and tries not to let the lead invade his chest.

“I’m so sorry, San…”

“Yeah…” she sighs, her voice so small Kurt can barely catch it. He wishes he couldn’t. “I’m not sure I can get over this, you know?”

“Of course you can.”

“No… I mean, it’s just… it’s too much. All my life, I just… everything I love it gets taken away, and I’m trying to survive, but what if it’s not worth it anymore?” Just like that, it feels like it was yesterday that Santana was telling him about the cold-blooded murder of her entire family.

“I love you.” Blaine says, his voice only a little bit stronger than hers, “I need you.”

“Yeah, I know…”

“No, I’m serious.” He sounds urgent, maybe even a little afraid, “Don’t stay stuff like that. You’re not allowed to give up.”

There’s a moment of silence where the only thing Kurt can hear is his own strained breathing in the darkened, empty, cold bathroom. “Well, in that case you’re not allowed to die, either,” Santana mutters, finally, and the thought alone – the single possibility that it might happen, is enough to get Kurt hyperventilating.

“I’m doing my best.”

“So am I.” Kurt can’t quite understand why there are tears in his eyes, but he really could do without overhearing this conversation and all this admission of possible deaths and struggles to even _wanting_ to stay alive, he wipes away at them furiously and bites his lips to keep himself in check while the conversation outside continues, “But it’s just… what if my best isn’t good enough? What if it’s just not… everything I need to keep me here, willing and fighting?”

Blaine takes too much time to answer, “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“I’m really not.” Santana has never sounded smaller.

“You kept me strong when I would’ve given anything to... t-to die.” Blaine tells her, and even Kurt can tell he’s never voiced that out loud so clearly – so unmistakable, no euphemism, not soft words to hide behind. “If I’m alive today it’s because of you.”

“Blaine, that’s not true at all,” she says, sounding only slightly closer to herself, “I slapped you and I gave you a few choice words, that’s all. You pulling through all of that shit…? It’s all you.”

“You’re here, too,” he insists, “If you think I’m strong, then you have to admit you are as well. You’re alive, and you’re _here_ despite all of that shit.”

“Yeah, but I’m… I’m not nice… I’m a horrible person. I don’t believe in much and I… I feel myself slipping further and further away from the girl I used to be. I’m scared of myself sometimes,” she admits, voice barely above a whisper. As if saying the words out loud made them all the more true. Kurt hates her sounding this way – this is not Santana, this is never how she should be. “I’m scared I’m only here for revenge. I’m scared I can’t connect to people anymore, I can’t believe in them. Britt gave me that – she made me feel… like I might have something in me that was… worth something. I’m just… I’m too fucked up. I just... I think I stopped caring, and I hate that about me.”

“Santana, that’s not true,” Blaine says at once – his voice so loud and so stark against her frailty. “You just came into my bedroom heartbroken over someone you _love_ so deeply and so immensely! You _care_!” he urges her, and Kurt has to hold a hand over his mouth to keep his sobs in, “I think you care so much that sometimes you just have to pretend like you don’t, or you’ll drown in it.”

“I hope so…” she breathes.

“You love _me_ , right?”

“Of course.” Her voice is thick with emotion.

“You love every single person in this house.”

“I’m still on the fence about your boytoy.” She says, and Kurt can practically see her rolling her eyes and smirking, and probably shrugging, even through her tears, and he manages to breathe at that.

Blaine chuckles, but it’s feeble and barely there, “ _So_ … you haven’t lost it all. You still have us – you still have a life, and I think it’s one worth being here for and being proud of, don’t you? And you certainly haven’t lost your humanity.”

There’s a long, shuddering sigh and the bed creaks, “I’m sorry I spent all this time pissed at you. If it were anyone else, I would’ve agreed with you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, if I was in your shoes I probably would’ve acted the same way you did,” Blaine tells her and Kurt wonders if he’s talking about him, or just in general. As silence takes over, the thought warms him just as much as it terrifies him – the real possibility of either of them being harmed, or even killed, and the other having to keep fighting despite the pain.

Kurt opens his eyes to stare at the dark. He feels very close to shutting himself off completely. He feels very close to a full break down. There are too many thoughts and feelings crowding his head and he has no idea what to do about them. For a moment there, it feels like he’s stepping out of his body and just observing, as a mere spectator. It’s better like that, it’s not as suffocating.

For a moment there, there’s relief.

It all snaps back to himself when the silence is broken, “I just… I can’t believe they killed her…” The words, the broken voice, the heartbreak – it comes suddenly and without warning, and Kurt has to close his eyes and curl his whole body to himself, to keep from disintegrating, “What was so threatening about her? Why? Why would they do that?”

Isn’t that the million-dollar question? Why? Both the easiest and the hardest to answer.

“She was a good person, and that’s all it takes.”

“She was innocent.”

“I just… I’m so sorry, Santana.”

“They killed her in cold blood… They just… They…” The same sobs, the same hysteria from the very moment she arrived are back. Kurt feels every single one of her sobs, shudders, whines, like they’re his own. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the proximity, maybe it’s because it’s hitting him that he’s been feeling guilty about killing the same people that killed this girl Santana loved so much, maybe it’s even that he hasn’t cried about his dad in long, but suddenly, there are endless tears pouring down his face and silent sobs wreaking his body, and nothing, absolutely nothing could make it go away. He can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t do anything besides cry.

“Shhh…”

“She must’ve been s-so scared.”

“Shh…”

“She’s dead!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

It’s finally here. The breaking point.

-x-

Santana doesn’t leave before the crack of dawn. There’s soft, cool light creeping through the crack when Kurt hears the bed creak and her hoarse goodbye to Blaine, claiming to need a long shower and some time alone.

Kurt hasn’t felt this exhausted and drained since the week his dad died. He turns the light back on and washes his face with ice-cold water, wishing the red blotches would just go away. Wishing he could lie and say he’d fallen asleep in the bathroom and not just stayed up all night crying right alongside the two of them.

He wishes Blaine would just leave, too, and pretend he never knew Kurt was there all along. Yet, when he opens the door, he finds Blaine sitting on the bed looking at him – expecting him.

“Hi,” Kurt says, ducking his head and unable to meet Blaine’s eyes, “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Kurt, it’s fine…” Blaine sighs, “With the way she was crying I think the whole house was listening.”

“But I heard everything…”

“Don’t mention it to her.” Kurt looks up to find Blaine walking up to him, “She didn’t notice you were there and she doesn’t need to know that. Just… forget about it.” Kurt lets out a huff of humorless laugh, and Blaine just kisses his cheek tenderly, “I’m gonna go for a run, okay? I need to… I don’t know.”

“Yeah… I’m gonna… I don’t know. I’m gonna try to sleep some,” he adds, despite the fact that he knows he’s not even going to close his eyes.

He’s halfway out the door when Blaine catches his wrist in a gentle grip, “Kurt… _please_ , take the sleep serum. It’s not worth it, torturing yourself like that.”

“I…”

“I know you haven’t been sleeping. I just want you to let me help you. That’s all I’m asking, Kurt. Please, I’m serious. I’m… I’m scared.” Blaine’s voice is a little thick, his eyes too bright, his hand to shaky, and maybe he’s too close to the edge himself. “I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

“I… I’ll think about it. I’m thinking about it.”

Blaine gives him a tired, sad look, before he leans over and kisses him slowly. “ _Please_.”

Alone in the bedroom, with the curtains closed, Kurt stares at the deep blue flask.

He rolls to his back and lets his head rest on the pillow. With a deep breath, he closes his eyes and waits for the faces to come. Maybe if he’ll just face them…

Surprisingly, it’s a smiling blonde girl with twinkling eyes and a cute blush that appears instead. It appears everywhere, it appears a hundred, a thousand, a million times. It appears in bodies that aren’t hers, it appears with no body at all. It appears in pools of trickling blood. He opens his eyes in horror.

He met her once. He never even talked to her. And yet, her face has just replaced every single one of the prison guard’s faces. And then every single one of the prisoner’s faces.

She didn’t just die. She didn’t even succumb to exhaustion and subhuman conditions. She was murdered in cold blood.

She’s dead.

The sweet girl with the easy smile from the market is gone, and for all Kurt knows he might have even killed her killer.

Is it horrible that, for the first time, the thought of having killed those men doesn’t make him sick to his stomach?

Everything remains the same.

He already knew they killed people, innocent people. He already knew they subjected prisoners to living hell. He had already seen Rachel grieving her dads. He had already seen frantic people running from burning buildings, bodies shaking with desperation and the tiniest glimmer of hope in the midst of an all-consuming fear. And he still doesn’t think he’s the judge of who gets to die and who gets to live.

And yet, this one extra number in the head count seems to be tipping the scales irreversibly.

Suddenly, Sebastian’s angry discourse makes all the sense and inflames his chest with righteousness.

Blaine’s careful considerations ease his consciousness until the only thing left is soft ripples in smooth, peaceful waters.

Santana’s crying… Santana’s crying marks the difference between right and wrong.

But could she also be right in her fears? Could this be pure revenge speaking louder than human conscience? Could his new ease of consciousness be the product of a new-found need for unforgiving and relentless payback?

Kurt eyes the blue bottle.

And what if it is? Some things are worth avenging.

Kurt picks it up and takes a long drag. His last thought, before heavy, dreamless sleep engulfs him is of all the times his life turned horribly wrong and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it – no more head held high amidst sneers and laughter, no more high road. It’s time to fight back.


	17. Better

Kurt wakes up to a bedroom bathed in the fading light of sunset. There are sounds of movement around the house, and he’s probably the only one sleeping. He breathes slowly and lets himself sink a little bit further into his bed. Hours of dreamless sleep has made him feel ten times more human, more rational, more calm. He’s not completely there yet, but it’s close enough, and the pooling dread that has settled all over his body the last few days is mostly gone.

He thought he’d cracked, broken down completely, and crossed a bridge into insanity the night before – but maybe he just reached the turning point into helping himself.

He’s possibly an idiot for dragging it on this long – he’s known for years how important proper sleep is, how prolonged periods of sleeplessness can only aggravate already frayed minds, and how it turns into a vicious cycle of despair where rationality gets thrown out the window and he becomes completely incapable of seeing the exit sign. He’s been there before. But right now he’s just happy he finally broke the cycle.

He checks the time – he’s been asleep for eleven hours.

Staring at the darkening ceiling of his bedroom he knows he’ll always feel bad about what he’d been forced to do in that camp, but he also knows it’s something he’ll learn to live with. He won’t ever be proud of killing, but he’ll be proud of saving those people, and that’s the part he needs to focus on if he wants to keep his sanity. He sighs, and closes his eyes for a minute more, before he climbs out of bed, stomach a little hungry for food.

He pulls on the only pair of jeans he has – the ones he crossed the portal in –, and, after some hesitation, the shirt from that day as well. Looking in the mirror, and seeing the way those clothes barely fit him now, he knows he’s much different from the boy he was that day.

 _Am I a different person altogether?,_ he frowns, and as he looks himself in the eye, he smiles and shakes his head. Growing up, changing, evolving… that’s all part of life. He’s still Kurt, but he’s older, stronger and maybe even a little wiser.

Certainly a lot more experienced.

He makes his way out of the bedroom, comfortable with his past and present – or at least knowing he will be one day.

He finds Rachel and Finn sitting on the living room couch and Rachel looks up and smiles, “Hey there, lazy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Next time you want to skip our morning jog at least let me know.” She points out with a tease to her voice.

“I’m sorry.” He says, “I… I was up all night, and I just had to sleep. I should probably go eat something before I pass out, though.”

She nods and doesn’t say anything else while he goes to the kitchen, where Joe is apparently starting dinner. Kurt promises he’s not going to get himself full before he picks up a piece of fruit and some bread and goes back to the living room. He sits on the second couch, and asks, “Anything noteworthy while I was out?”

Rachel considers the question before she says with a sad tone, “Santana came back from the refugee camp last night, and Brittany definitely didn’t make it.”

“I know…” he nods, “I mean… I assumed that was what she was crying about. I heard it.”

“Yeah… pretty much everyone did.” Finn sighs.

“Anyway, everyone’s still a little shaken up from the mess with Jesse and now this… It was a wasted day, pretty much. I hate it when this happen. When we’re actually making progress and then something happens and we just lose steam.”

“That’s not what’s happening. A couple of bad days isn’t losing steam, Rachel.” Finn says, “We just needed a little pause to get our heads back in place. Tomorrow I’m sure we’ll get cracking on it.”

“Yeah… I’m sure that’ll happen.” She huffs, clearly not buying the optimism.

“We’ll make sure it does.” Finn tells her, and Kurt gives him a smile and an approving nod.

“That’s the spirit.”

“Thanks, my lord.” Finn chuckles with a wink.

“Shut up!” Kurt laughs, throwing a pillow that Finn blocks and instead hits Rachel square in the face. She yelps, the two boys laugh, and she swats Finn over the shoulder.

As an easy sort of silence settles around them, Kurt turns back to Rachel and smiles, “Don’t worry, Rach, everything will be okay.”

-x-

The next day Kurt wakes up that extra bit early. After a day of sleeping, and now another full night on top of that, Kurt feels completely rested. He climbs out of bed by the time the first few rays of sunshine are coming up, and he kisses Blaine’s temple, watching him turn over and bury himself deeper in the covers and pillows, before leaving towards his own bedroom. For only the second time since they started working out together, Kurt is the one waking Rachel up. He makes sure to be as obnoxious as she usually is in order to get her out of bed and ready for their run.

When they’re moving and his muscles are letting go of pent up energy, screaming at him for making them stand still for too long, he can’t help grinning through his labored breathing, “I never knew this could be so addictive.”

Rachel gives him a look and nods, “Yeah… I hate going a day without it. It helps clear my mind.”

“So true.” Kurt pants.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it a short answer?” he chuckles as he checks his watch to find they still have forty more minutes to run.

“I don’t know.”

“Ask.”

“What’s going on between you and Blaine? Are you going to stay, after all?”

“Oh.” He pants, and can’t help it if his pace gets a little messed up for a moment there.

“Too long to answer?” Rachel asks as she eases a little on her speed, until he’s caught up.

Kurt laughs to himself and shakes his head, “Not exactly, no.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” he breathes, stopping altogether and startling Rachel. He holds the side of his stomach where he can feel a stitch coming from stopping too quickly, “The truth is… we just don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Any of it.” Kurt shakes his head and shrugs, “We’re… we’re together, but it’s not… the only way I’m staying is if I physically can’t go back. I don’t know… we don’t know. We’re just taking whatever time we can get.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” Kurt hangs his head and takes a deep breath, trying his best not to let this get his spirits back down, “Can we just keep going now?”

“Yeah, of course, yes.” She presses her lips together; clearly regretting her question, before Kurt just sighs and starts running again. He doesn’t look back to see if she’s following, but either way he knows that any conversation that could’ve colored their run, as per usual, will no longer take place. Even their hand-to-hand combat that day is significantly more silent, but also way better. With all their focus put on it, they excel, and when Kurt finally (for only the fifth time since they started training together) pins her down and declares victory, they’re panting and she looks slightly apprehensive. With a breathless chuckle he shakes his head and grins, “No hard feelings, Rachel.”

She gives him a little sheepish smile and he just laughs as he pulls himself back up and offers her a hand.

“That was pretty awesome, guys.” Pucks says from the back porch where, apparently, he’d been watching, “I think you should start practicing with the rest of us, otherwise you’ll just get comfortable and no one wants that. Go get something to drink and come back here in like twenty.”

“Oh… okay…?” Kurt nods, before he makes his way inside for a long drink of water.

By the time they get back outside everyone else is already there, stretching and getting ready. Of course they try to be funny enough to partner Blaine with Kurt but the both of them just stay put until Quinn finally has enough of it and pulls Kurt in to fight her.

He’s on the ground in less than two minutes, which is why it’s completely surprising when she says, “Not bad…”

“You’re kidding, right?” He bends, wiping the sweat off his brow and refusing to move from his place.

“Less than two months ago I would’ve knocked you out with a single punch, Kurt.” She says, with a smile, and Kurt considers the concept.

“Yeah, I guess you would have.”

“I like to call that progress.” She says, holding a hand for him to take, “And progress is good.”

“I guess so…” he chuckles as he surveys his surrounding just in time to see Blaine kneeling on Rachel’s chest, a teasing smirk taking over his features.

“Better luck next time!” he tells her, and she just throws her head back and sighs dramatically.

“So not my day!”

“Cheer up, Berry,” Kurt calls out to her, “You lasted longer than I did.”

“Yes, but she was with Blaine…” Quinn says, to which Blaine gasps.

“Mean!”

She laughs, and somehow the whole thing gets turned into a quick tournament with everyone amped up and excited. Even Santana, looking startlingly muted and not quite herself, agrees to it and smiles briefly as she promises to kick everyone’s butt. Blaine fetches some paper, a pencil and a hat and jots down everyone’s name, pulling them out two at a time. Kurt’s first instinct at hearing his name being called after Finn’s is to burst out laughing for three minutes straight. But he’s nothing if not dignified, and so he gets up and holds his fists up and sways his weight from leg to leg. He’s faster than Finn, obviously, and that’s the only thing keeping him from get his ass kicked in one move. Speed’s not enough, though, and after what’s sure to still be an embarrassingly short amount of time, Finn’s through to the next round, while Kurt is moaning on the ground.

Finn pulls him back up, and demands a round of applause, which everyone supplies and Kurt just shakes his head and makes a show of crawling back to the sidelines. Blaine pets his head gently, cooing at him for a moment before he reads out, “Next up, Quinn versus… Mike!”

“Oh fuck, this should be good.” Sam grins next to Kurt.

Mike’s smiling as he pulls himself to his feet, and follows Quinn into position. Their fight lasts a ridiculous amount of time, and Kurt has absolutely no difficulty understanding why – they both have the same strengths and the same disadvantages. They play on speed, and they lack blunt force. Ultimately, it’s down to ruthlessness and relentlessness. Quinn’s foot drives into Mike’s throat and everyone cheers, and they both laugh.

Mike graciously accepts her help to stand and comes to sit next to Kurt, drenched in sweat. “Looks like you’re in my league,” he offers with a panting smile.

“Yeah, right!” Kurt nods, “I’m pretty sure I could take you any day!”

“Alright, alright! Let’s hear it for Tina and… huh, oh! Me!” Blaine grins, and hands the hat to Sam before he jogs over to Tina, still smiling, “Let’s do this!”

“Let’s!” she agrees, happily.

Kurt bites his lip to keep himself from groaning. He never thought this would be a thing for him, but he’s wrong. The visual of Blaine’s body moving fast and precise is mouth watering. If anyone notices how his eyes never leave Blaine’s movements they don’t comment. If Kurt had his way this fight would never end, and he would just watch it forever. Alas, in a fast move Kurt’s not quite sure he completely understood, Blaine has Tina’s arms locked behind her back, and swipes a leg under hers, sending her crashing to the floor and pinning her in place.

“You’re okay, yeah?” Blaine asks as he helps her up, and she just rolls her eyes and flips him off before sitting down next to Mike, only smiling as he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“And that is what we call a couple of losers,” Puck teases and they both stick their tongues out at him.

“Puck, you’re up, against, oh… wow, Rachel.” Blaine reads, wincing as everyone laughs, “I’m so sorry.”

Rachel groans but gets up nonetheless. Kurt feels fairly sure that this combat is even shorter than his against Finn, and takes small comfort in that. He welcomes Rachel into his arms once Puck’s finished her.

“And last but not least, that leaves Sam and Santana.”

It’s another one of those long fights that gets you thinking they will never end. This time, the problem is that they have the exact opposite things going for them. She’s fast, he’s strong. Ultimately, speed wins the game. And Sam refuses to stand up as he just rolls himself away from the middle area, making a show of how beat he is. She just smiles, crosses her arms and goes back to the winner’s side.

“Round two!” Blaine calls out, “Small hiccup – we’re five…”

“I think we should just assume I get through to the final.” Puck calls out, “I mean, come on, let’s face it…”

Blaine considers this, and to Kurt’s surprise he nods and shrugs, “Fair enough.”

“Yeah, I guess…” Quinn nods as well, and the rest of them just agree, so Puck takes a seat and waits for the final.

The second round is, as expected, a whole different ballpark. Santana somehow manages to get Finn sprawled on the floor, and Kurt has never been more scared of anyone as he is of her. Blaine and Quinn spend an eternity hitting and dodging, and to anyone but Kurt it actually does get boring after endless minutes of it. Until finally, Quinn, true to her words earlier, has him beat. Blaine just takes a deep breath and says, “Thank you! Finally! I was this close to forfeiting!”

Afterwards, Santana and Quinn have the most intense fight Kurt has ever seen. He’s fearing for both their lives, gnawing on his lip, and practically ripping his own shirt apart. When Santana’s standing, victorious, he finally remembers how to breathe.

“Exciting!” Puck exclaims, as he stands to meet Santana, “It’ll be like our breakup all over again.”

She just gives him a fond smile before they’re off.

It seems that Puck will forever stay the undisputed master of hand-to-hand combat, as he emerges the winner of the tournament, and Santana sits up, panting and drenched in sweat.

“So, who knew…?” Puck muses, “The last time we did this, I went up against Finn in the last round, and no fight was longer than like… two minutes.”

“Yeah, man!” Finn says, still a little red in the face as he rubs at the forming bruise on his chin, “Such bullshit. When did they get so good at this?”

Everyone laughs, standing up to go back to the house for lunch.

A pair of arms wraps around Kurt’s waist and he’s pulled back into Blaine’s body with oomph and a surprised yelp. He lets himself stay there, though, as everyone else disappears. Once they’re alone outside, he turns in Blaine’s embrace, to face him and accept a slow kiss.

“Hey you,” he chuckles, pulling back to grin at Blaine.

“Hi,” Blaine kisses him again, fast and cheerful, “It’s really nice to see you smiling again.”

“Oh, I…” he frowns and doesn’t quite know what to say to that, “I’m… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand. I know I scared you.”

“Hey, no…” Blaine shakes his head with a smile, “There’s nothing to apologize for. I just… I’m just happy you’re feeling better today.”

“I am. You were right. I just needed to sleep… I wasn’t thinking clearly anymore, and… I am now.” Kurt nods, pulling his smile back on. It makes Blaine’s eyes light up.

“Good!” he says, cradling Kurt’s cheeks between his hands, “I love you a lot, okay?”

-x-

After lunch Finn keeps his promise to Rachel and doesn’t rest until everyone is in the conference room with the purpose of setting goals and deadlines and making sure everything keeps moving. Time is passing and they can’t afford to fall behind or else they might lose the perfect opportunity for the final strike.

Over that week they consider many possible scenarios, and they end up asking Wes, from the Dalton cell, to spend the next week with them, helping them out with what needs to be done and how to do it. Wes promises to forge documents for all of them and submit them as job applicants for the extra staff the Castle will start hiring soon. The background checks on those are excruciatingly thorough so everyone’s given a folder with a lot of information to study – Kurt and Blaine excepted for obvious reasons. Wes promises he’ll know if any of them are shortlisted well in advance, so that they can move into Dalton in time for the personal interviews.

In case it doesn’t work, and none of them are hired as extra staff, Blaine and Santana start working on an alternative plan to infiltrate the castle on D-day – as Kurt has taken to call it. It probably involves a lot of crawling through sewage if the blueprints on the table are anything to go by.

Meanwhile Quinn and Puck are still in charge of the decoy maneuvers, and amongst many conversations and debates it’s been decided that maybe real, actual riots would be better. If they were to leak that information with no way to back it up for real, the Guard might call their bluff.

“It’s dangerous, yes,” Puck tells everyone as they gather in the conference room, “but I think it’s absolutely necessary.”

“We tell them to riot? It’s suicidal for those people – sure, they can’t arrest a whole city, but can sure as hell shoot most of them.” Will shakes his head.

“We can give them back-up – or at least weaponry. We can give them a way to fight back,” Quinn argues. “Listen, we’re here because we want to be here, and no one told us this was risk free. I really think that, given the choice, people will want to fight.”

“Especially if they know what they’re fighting for,” Kurt adds. “When we were at the camp everyone was pretty scared, and they weren’t trusting us at all, but the moment they understood who I was – it was like they knew what to do without me even telling them.”

“What, you want to go knocking on doors and tell them about our plan?” Artie squints.

“Well, no.” Kurt doesn’t really know what he thinks is the best course of action towards the riots, but he definitely thinks they should happen, “I’m just saying, I think this is something worth thinking about.”

“It doesn’t have to be door to door knocking. I seem to remember the Resistance started with a meeting in an underground bar,” Santana says – one of the very few times she’s spoken at the larger reunions over the last month, ever sine that terrible, horrible night, “God knows I had to listen to Will wistfully reminiscing about the good old days when it was just ten guys in a basement looking out for each other enough times.”

“Those were-”

“Different times, I know. But it is how it started, why can’t it be how it ends as well?” She shrugs, “We don’t need it to last, we need it to spread.”

“She’s right,” Quinn nods energetically, “It’s not supposed to be secret – it just needs to spread. Why not go around the kingdom, asking people to join the fight – the more places that start rising, the more chances we’ll have at a clean shot at the castle. As long as they think we’re with them, on the streets, it’s our best chance at misdirection.”

“If you start spreading it now, they’ll know about it and shut it down before it even starts.” Tina points out, clearly torn between supporting the new idea and maintaining the old strategy.

Pucks shakes his head, “Oh come on, what’s so different between this and painting a bunch of eyes on walls?”

“There were no dates on those eyes. It was a message with very little content.” Will says.

“But isn’t the whole point of this that they know the dates?” He shrugs.

“But that’s besides- I- we- You can’t just tell people – they’ll decimate entire towns if there’s a hint-”

“No they won’t,” Kurt frowns, “They’ll pretend to have things under control. They’ll try to infiltrate the movement, they’ll try to get to its leaders. Sure, we can’t make banners about it and put them on the street, but we’re playing a double game here. We need them to know this is happening, we need them to find the bait.” He bites his lips and tries to get better words, “I genuinely think they won’t believe it if it’s just a whisper here or there. They need to see things moving towards it. And the only way that’s going to happen is if we get people to collaborate with us, and think that _that_ is the whole plan. Besides, people should know what we’re doing here. They need to know that someone out there gives a shit, and that help is on the way. And they need to be given the chance to help themselves. So I think we should go to them – not door to door, no – but… town to town, and we should let them know that something will happen, with their patience and loyalty-”

“You want to go around the kingdom just getting people riled up and telling them to wait for our signal?”

Kurt shrugs with a tiny smile, “They’ll trust me. And we can monitor the situation, make sure it’s all under control, leave someone in charge in each place.”

“We don’t have the manpower for that-”

“Yes, we do,” Puck says, unimpressed at the weak argument. “I mean, I get it you don’t wanna use the other cells besides Dalton right up until the day, but there are other options. You go down to those refugee camps and see if they won’t wanna help.”

“Refugees?”

“They’re just sitting there, nothing to do! They’ve got more reason than anyone else to fight back, they don’t have any connections to use that they could possibly fuck us with – no knowledge of the actual plan or even of the Resistance in general – they can operate on a need to know basis, and it’s a very small need to know – I think it’s pretty much the best option we got.”

“That would be a lot of work for the Dalton cell, they’d need new identities, and-”

“It’s worth it – if there ever was a time to work hard it’s now.” Quinn crosses her arms over her chest, daring anyone to come up with any other argument.

Will frowns, clearly still very torn before he clears his throat and says, “You two will go to Dalton and ask them if they can do that. I guess while we wait for word on the castle, we do have the time for that.”

“I want to go as well.” Kurt says, “It’s my idea, too.”

“It’s not-“

“And people will trust _me_.”

Will just stares at him for a long time. Next to him, Blaine gives Kurt an encouraging smile, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before Will agrees – even if he says no now, Blaine will talk him into it afterwards. After another deep breath he finally says, “You’ll go to Dalton, and then we’ll choose some key places for you to go and speak to people – everywhere else, Quinn and Puck will take care of it.”

“I want to go to the refugee camp.”

“I…” another sigh, “You’ll go there straight after Dalton, and only if Dalton says they can do it.”

Kurt beams with victory.

-x-

They leave for Dalton that very day. Blaine opens a portal for them, and then gives them another for the way back. Kurt kisses him before he leaves and realizes that, if the idea goes through, he’ll have to give up at least a week with Blaine at some point. It feels like such a waste, but he just kisses him again, a little harder, and crosses the portal.

Unlike the last time, the street they come up to in Dalton is sunlit, the grey walls around a little brighter – but it’s still desolate and completely depressing.

Quinn hurries into the abandoned building as she starts whistling at once, the two of them following close after.

It’s Jeff who opens the trapdoor again, and Kurt wonders if that’s his job – if it is, Kurt can imagine it’s a very boring one.

He asks his usual security questions, and only afterwards greets them enthusiastically – especially Kurt – and then leads them inside. When Wes sees them, his eyebrows shoot up to the top of his eyebrow, “Something wrong?”

“No.” Quinn shakes her head, “We have another job for you. It’s best if we discuss it in private.”

In the same conference room Kurt had been to the other time, they explain everything to Wes. He says, on such short notice, he can’t give them more than five brand new identities, and that it’ll take a few days. There’s no haggling from any of them, and Quinn announces at once that that only means that have to choose wisely where to strike.

“Choose your guys from the refugee camp and bring me a picture of each of them. They’ll have new papers in less than a week, hopefully, so you can start working on that.” Wes says, handing a strange looking camera to Quinn, “Do you want Sebastian to accompany you?”

The word no is on the tip of Kurt’s tongue when Quinn accepts, “Yes. Actually, if he could come with us for the whole thing.” She adds with an almost sheepish smile, “Blaine has to work on other things, and we really could use the extra-protection if we’re going to go around with this one.” She sticks her thumb out towards Kurt.

Wes just nods.

-x-

Sebastian is beyond smug when he accompanies the three of them outside.

“You do realize you’re a last resort, right?” Kurt tells him, just as Jeff closes the trapdoor behind himself.

Sebastian just shoots him a wink, walks outside and opens the portal, its light bright green, “Hop in.”

It’s like that time when Blaine took Kurt to see Queen Carmen. Sebastian opens a portal to the middle of nowhere before he opens another to their real destination, because the refugee camps are located abroad. As a consequence, the second portal takes its toll on Kurt and he gags once before he gets himself back in control. It’s definitely getting easier, but he still doesn’t have the stomach for the bigger journeys.

Once he’s made sure he won’t throw up all over his shoes he looks around himself to find he’s standing in the middle of a huge campsite. There are people bustling everywhere and a surprising amount of smiles. Right next to him there’s a huge garden, with all sorts of vegetables growing, and if he lets himself breathe deep enough he can detect a hint of cattle somewhere down the hill.

“How many people live here?”

“Now?” Quinn shrugs, “Hundreds.”

“The Dalton cell tries to get as many of them back in the kingdom, but it’s not that easy, and a lot of them don’t want to,” Sebastian adds.

“Plus, it was hard enough getting Carmen to agree to have this camp here, let alone give everyone here jobs and letting them move somewhere else in her kingdom.” Quinn shakes her head, “Every month, she gives twenty of them citizenship, but that’s not nearly enough. Most of our money goes to keeping this place alive.”

Kurt nods, not knowing what to say to that.

“Come on,” Sebastian sighs and starts towards the biggest tent up ahead. They push the thick, white fabric aside and find themselves in a tent filled with bookcases, bursting at the seams with papers. In front of them, there are six people sitting at a long desk, jotting things down on papers, talking to other people, staring at nothing with a frown.

Sebastian goes straight to a girl who’s doing the latter. She’s sitting in the middle of the desk, chin perched on her palm as she chews on her lip. She’s pretty, with long brown hair and if she ever was a camp prisoner she clearly hasn’t been one for a long time, her figure healthy, and her cheeks rosy.

“Hello,” Sebastian greets her, “We’re from the Resistance, and we’re looking for five volunteers. Can you point us in the right direction?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, “Volunteers for what?”

Quinn shoots Sebastian a half-hearted glare, “It’s high risk, so the volunteers would need to be discreet and most of all loyal. I can’t tell you much, but basically we need five people to come with us, and spread the word about the return of the crown prince.” She explains, pointing towards Kurt. The girl looks up at him and immediately drops her jaw.

“I get that a lot,” Kurt tells her with an awkward chuckle.

“I – what – fuck!” she gasps.

“That too.” He smiles, “Listen, we’re really just looking for people who’re really, really loyal and brave, and who can keep a secret.”

“Do you have any ex-resistance members around, maybe?” Puck offers.

She’s clearly not over the shock, still staring at Kurt like she can’t believe her eyes, and doesn’t even bother to answer before she’s tugging hard at the sleeve of the person walking behind her. The man, clearly not expecting this, drops an armful of papers, every piece of it flying in a different direction.

He drops to his knees with a loud “Fuck!” and grabs fistfuls of paper, clearly frustrated as he huffs out “Dammit, Dani!”, and bends low to pick them back up.

Just as he does, the papers seem to get a will of their own and arrange themselves into a neat little stack on the desk. The young man looks up in surprise, with familiar bright green eyes.

“You’re welcome.” Sebastian smirks.

“I know you!” the guy gasps, “I know all of you! You-you were at the camp!”

Kurt squints and now he can recognize the familiar traits, much fuller, much healthier. What difference a month makes! “Elliott!” he gasps, “Right? You’re Elliott!”

“I- You remember me?!” he gasps, a grin ghosting over his handsome face.

“Would you look at that?” Sebastian reaches over to pat Elliott’s shoulder, “We got our first volunteer!”

“What?” Elliott frowns, still a little dazed.

Kurt shoots Sebastian a warning glare before he looks back to Elliot and says, “When we were evacuating the camp, you told us you wanted to join the Resistance. Well, do you still want to? Because we can use you.”

“I- Yeah-Yes!” Elliot stutters, “What do you need me to do?”

“For now, just come with us.” Quinn smiles, “Anything else will have to be shared in private.”

“I’m in, too,” the girl, Dani, pipes us from the table, “I’m sorry, I had a bit of a brain freeze. How many people do you need? I can definitely point you in the right direction.”

“Okay, just…” Puck raises his hands, “hold up, we would much rather deal with people who have been in the Resistance, if that’s possible.”

“I was in the Resistance,” she says, “Carmel cell. You can check, my name is Dani Reed.”

Kurt quirks an eyebrow and tries not to sneer too much, “We haven’t had the best experience with that cell in a while.”

“I promise I’m loyal. And I used to go undercover all the time. Seriously, I’m good. I got caught because it was either me or the stupid wizard.”

“Jesse?” Pucks scoffs.

“Yes.”

“It should’ve been him.” He mutters though gritted teeth and she looks alarmed.

Before they get any more sidetracked, Kurt cuts in the conversation and redirects it back to the point, “Can you get us three more people? People we can trust. And be ready to leave today.”

She looks startled for a moment before she beams and takes off, “I’ll be right back!”

Elliott’s left staring after her, suddenly blushing when everyone else turns back to him. He shoves his hands deep in pockets and gives them an awkward smile.

“So.” Sebastian turns to him, clearly finding the whole situation funny, “What have you been up to?”

-x-

A few hours later, they’re alone with the five volunteers, Dani, Elliott, a tall guy named Ryder, a sweet looking kid named Rory, and smug guy named Spencer, making sure they all know what they’re getting themselves into and snapping pictures. They can’t explain what’s going to happen until they’ve been brought back to the Inn and Blaine and Will have made sure they’re trustworthy, but in the meantime, they’re given some explanation to the nature of what’s expected of them. Once they’ve reiterated their interest in it, Sebastian looks at all of them and cringes.

“Ugh, this is going to be tricky. I can’t keep the portal open for more than three seconds and we’re _nine_.”

“We still have Blaine’s leftover portal.” Quinn tells him, “Just open one for us and then we’ll use Blaine’s. You accompany them.”

He considers it and nods, “Everyone ready? Get real cozy.”

Kurt steps as close to Quinn as he feels comfortable. Sebastian rolls his eyes and shoves him flush against her. He waits until she’s fished Blaine’s portal out of her pocket, before green light engulfs them. The nasty feeling doesn’t last long and before Kurt can even register that his feet are back on solid ground Quinn’s dropped the small bottle and crushed it with her boot, gold light blinding him suddenly.

Once it’s gone, he holds onto her shoulder for support.

“You gonna puke?”

He holds up a finger and swallows his queasiness down, “I’m fine.”

She claps him over the shoulder. “You’re getting better at this,” she says, already heading towards the Inn.

He nods wordlessly and tries not to let it show that he just gagged before he moves to follow her and Puck. He’s almost at the door when a flash of light alerts him to Sebastian’s arrival. He gestures to the five people standing blindfolded next to him, looking a little breathless and says, “You keep these, I’m gonna go drop the photos off at Dalton and I’ll be back tomorrow, to start talking itinerary and stuff. So we can get moving as soon as their papers are done. ‘Kay, thanks, bye!”

In another bright flash of light Sebastian’s gone, and Kurt’s staring at five slightly scared and confused blindfolded people. He falters for a moment before he shakes his head and clears his throat, “Alright guys, let’s get you organized…” he directs all of them until they’re standing in a line with hands on each other’s shoulders, “And onwards.”

He guides them through to the house and then to the basement where Jesse had been interrogated and where six chairs are already waiting them, Blaine and Will sitting in a corner finishing up with something. Blaine looks up as Kurt enters and his smile is bright and pleased.

“Alright guys, I think you can take off the blindfolds now…?” Kurt says, shooting a questioning glance at Blaine, who nods and pushes himself off from the table he’d been leaning against. He walks straight to Kurt, sparing only a quick, kind smile to all five of them, before taking Kurt’s hand, guiding him back outside the basement and pressing their lips together with a full grin.

“Hi,” he says.

Kurt keeps himself from commenting they’ve seen each other today, just hours ago, and kisses him again.

Blaine doesn’t say anything else before he slips back inside the room with a lip-bit smile, leaving Kurt alone in the corridor grinning like an idiot. It takes about five seconds before Kurt gets back to reality and frowns. “What the fuck was that…” he sighs before he chuckles to himself and goes in search of something to do that doesn’t include reeling after exchanging innocent kisses with his sort-of-boyfriend-but-also-so-much-more.

Joe and Mercedes are halfway done with dinner, so Kurt helps them out and talks to them about the refugee camp, surprised to find that they’ve both been over many times, after the bigger camp raids, to help heal some of the more injured prisoners. The camp has its own team of Healers and a witch, but some times they need some reinforcements and Emma handles the Inn on her own while the two of them volunteer over there for a few days.

Blaine and Will don’t join them for dinner, but Kurt makes a point of bringing some food down for all of them, and he finds a relaxed, easy environment in the room. Both men asking questions calmly, the visitors answering just as peacefully. He gives all of them friendly smiles and accepts Elliot’s high five with a chuckle before going back upstairs and deciding to settle down in Blaine’s room reading the rest of his favorite book while he waits.

As he sits comfortably on the bed, ready for the night in his briefs and a light pajama shirt, legs crossed and back propped against the pillows, he smiles to himself. Maybe Quinn is right – maybe Kurt really is getting better at all of this. It has, after all, been a full month since the last time he felt overwhelmed, or paralyzed with fear or any kind of anxiety. And it’s been a damn good month as well.

-x-

He wakes up to a chuckle. Blaine is carefully picking up the book, from where it’s resting flat against Kurt’s face, his nose pressed deep into the middle, pages a little glued to his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine smiles, whining slightly through his laughs, even though he doesn’t look sorry at all, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Ugh, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Kurt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and sitting back up, “I was jus-” Blaine interrupts him with a kiss, leaning over and balancing his weight on Kurt’s shoulders.

“It’s great that you were sleeping! You _should_ be sleeping,” He says as he pulls back, “It’s two in the morning.”

Kurt scrunches up his nose and yanks at Blaine’s collar until they’re kissing again, and Blaine’s laughing against his lips and stumbling a little for balance.

“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, “You have no idea… I love you!”

Blaine stops in his movements, already halfway on top of Kurt, only one foot left on the floor. He looks back at Kurt, studies his face and seems pleased by what he finds. He beams and says, “That was supposed to be my line right now, Kurt. That was exactly what I was going to say, you thief!” he laughs again and the sound is delicious. “I was about to go on a tangent about my love and admiration for you.” He cups Kurt’s cheek, “I’m so unbelievably proud of you. Kurt, I told you when we met that I had faith in you, but… you’ve surpassed anything I could’ve ever hoped for. You’re taking my breath away with each word you say in that conference room, and you’re making us so much better, and I just… I just love you a lot. You came into that basement today and you just looked so… comfortable. With this house – with them – with yourself, and I just… I don’t know, I’m babbling, but I just wanted you to know that I’m really, really proud of you.”

Kurt can’t do anything besides pulling Blaine back down and kissing him fiercely, his heart suddenly hammering against his chest. They keep at it for a while, but Kurt knows they’re walking the fine line between feeling amazing and turning it into something more than they’re ready for. So he pulls away, and frames Blaine’s face between his hands, “I really want you to come with us, next week. We could ditch Sebastian and you should come with us.”

Blaine gives him a sad little smile, “I wish I could. But you shouldn’t be nervous. You’ll be great.”

“I’m not nervous,” he shakes his head. “I’m just… I don’t know how long I’m going to be away from you, and it’s killing me that I’ll have to waste time we could be spending-”

“Kurt, I-”

“I know our relationship isn’t the priority, right now. And it never will be, because it’s not even… But I just… I guess…” he shrugs, not knowing how to phrase without making the sting worse.

Blaine lets himself slide to Kurt’s side, signaling the end of their making out and the beginning of a serious talk. Kurt shouldn’t be surprised, he brought this upon himself.

“Yeah. I know…” Blaine sighs, and Kurt has to double check that he heard it right. No wise speech about priorities? Or about perhaps rethinking their hopeless relationship? Not even a confused stream of consciousness debating the pros and the cons of their earlier, probably misguided decisions? Just a deep, long sigh, and a small voice.

“Y-you…? What?”

Blaine frowns, and props himself on his elbows. He leans down to kiss Kurt’s temple and brush a few stray hairs off his forehead, “ _Kurt._ I don’t want this to end, and if it has to… well, I don’t want to waste a moment of it, either.”

Kurt nods and rolls his eyes, trying for nonchalance, “But there’s a kingdom to save. We have responsibilities.”

“Yes,” Blaine shrugs, “but we’re allowed to hate this, right?”

Kurt can’t help smiling. It’s stupid, really – they’re talking about the inevitable end of their relationship, but Kurt still feels like smiling, because for the first time he feels like he’s allowed to truly feel bad about it. For the first time he feels like Blaine’s just as clueless and anguished as he is, and not trying to hide his pain behind more important and pressing matters, and it gives him a strange sort of comfort. That they’re so clearly on the same page.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He sighs, curving a hand around the back of Blaine’s neck and pulling him down. The kiss is slow and a little sad. “Hey,” he says as he pulls back, “We may not be forever, but the memories are, right?”

Blaine seems a little thrown for a moment before he nods wordlessly.

“We can make sure we have the best ones – starting with this:” he takes Blaine’s face between his hands and says, “I promise I will never forget you, or how it feels to be with you. I adore you.”

Blaine falters. His eyes are a little wet as he nods. Kurt doesn’t miss how hard he has to push for a smile to come. “I promise I won’t regret this. Ever.” Blaine murmurs.

Kurt finds he can’t say anything to that – because all he can think about is the moment when he no longer has Blaine’s hand in his, or his eyes to look for, or his lips to kiss, and he knows it’ll be like not having air to breathe. And when that moment comes he’ll wonder if it would’ve been better not having ever taken a single breath at all.

He closes his eyes and lets Blaine’s arms come around his waist. He feels his soul necklace a little heavy around his own neck.

“I still want you to be my first everything,” he whispers, half hoping Blaine’s already asleep.

Instead, Blaine buries his head a little deeper into the crook of his neck, and nods, slow and small. Something wet splatters on Kurt’s skin, but he pretends not to notice Blaine’s tears.

-x-

Bright sunlight and the hustle of voices and movement slowly permeate into Kurt’s sleep until he’s blinking his eyes open and yawning himself awake. Blaine’s side of the bed is empty and cold, but he can hear a shower running in the bathroom and that somehow makes him feel significantly better.

He takes a few deep breaths. So, okay, the night before had been a bittersweet note to end a good day on. But it _had_ been a good day. They’d gotten a lot done, and it felt a little bit like the culmination of the last month, when Kurt hadn’t felt like he was drowning 90% of the time, and he could feel everyone in the house was truly, deeply starting to respect him and believe in him. It had been a month and a day of progress and things really _are_ better. He doesn’t even use the serum anymore!

He gets up and draws a silly little heart on the rumpled sheets with his finger, hoping Blaine will notice it and smile, before he disappears towards his own bedroom, wondering if Rachel’s been on her own run, and given up on him.

He finds her just as she’s ready to take off, and they spend a nice morning training. After they return from running the trail in the woods, Rachel is recruited by Sam, for sword fighting practice, while Quinn barely has to ask Kurt before he’s agreeing to join her far away from everything else, shooting at targets.

Quinn might not be the easiest person to read or to talk to – you never really know when you’re going to say something that makes her eyebrow quirk and her smile sour into contempt – but the best thing about her is that you can’t help but admire her and the way her back is always straight, and her chin is always up, and, despite what one might think at first sight, her hand is always ready to hold yours and help you be just as tall as her. That despite what she’s been through (and every day Kurt grows even more acutely aware he doesn’t actually know half of it), she’s still here, standing straight and fighting hard, smiling when she has a reason to and persisting when she doesn’t – that’s something Kurt admires her for.

And his favorite part about spending time with her? The silence. Easy, comfortable, expected. She doesn’t fill it with useless chatter and doesn’t expect him to, either. She might not be his best friend in this house but she’s possibly the one he feels most at peace with. They’re so similar (or so he kind of hopes), that he doesn’t feel the need to put on any kind of bravado for her. There are no expectations he needs to fulfill because she’ll understand it.

He’s come to love Rachel, and even Mercedes, like he never has any other friends in his life. They’re, without a doubt, his best friends ever.

He loves Blaine in a way he never even knew he could love someone, completely, hopelessly, devotedly. In a way he doesn’t have enough words to describe.

But Quinn? Quinn feels like a sister he never had.

And it probably helps that he happens to be a natural at the thing she does. They hit the same target at the same time, dead center, and she gives him an impressed little smile that gets him laughing.

“You’re better at this,” She says, slowly lowering her gun and turning to him.

“Practice makes perfect, but I guess in this case, it really is in my blood.”

“No,” she chuckles softly, “I mean at… being here. Being you.”

“What?”

“You’re stronger and you fight better, yes, but you’re also happier and… and you’re taking initiative. You’re turning into a leader, Kurt.” She squeezes his shoulder and gives him a bright smile and a wink.

He doesn’t manage much beyond a little gasp as she gathers up their things and starts back up towards the Inn. Blaine had said as much just the night before, but the words, however simpler, sound even more impressive coming out of Quinn’s mouth. Stunned, but with a slight happy buzz to his body, he follows her and doesn’t tamper down his smile.

Lunch is almost ready, and the table is set, so Mercedes informs him that he should go get Blaine and Sam from the former’s bedroom, and he goes. There’s an unmistakable spring to his step as he walks down the corridor and he’s about to make music out of his knocking on the door, kept ajar, when Blaine’s voice makes him stop and listen. It’s thick and broken.

“I don’t know, Sam… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I think I was… so naïve. I just… I keep telling myself it’s going to be fine, and I’ll get over it, live in the moment and love him while you have him, but I…” he exhales long and hard. “He’s my _forever_ ,” he murmurs, Kurt almost doesn’t catch it but he does and it leaves him breathless. It’s like he never knew words could mean so much.

“I just… I just can’t see where I’m supposed to go after this, you know? It’s… stupid. I’m – we’re young and we’ve been together for like, what? Two months?… And I know there’s more to life than- than this. But… it really feels like I found it – something I didn’t know I could have, and it feels amazing. Only it turns out I can’t actually have it, after all. And I thought I could keep going afterwards, smile at the memories and move forward. But. I just don’t know anymore. This month it just… it felt so perfect. Everything about it, but especially him. He’s everywhere and I always want even more of him. It feels so natural to be – to be with Kurt. I don’t think I’m ever going to love someone like I love him, Sam. Is that insane? Am I insane?

“I’ve never… I’ve never been happier. I didn’t know I _could_ be this happy, you know? And then it was just… Last night – he just- he said- He- I- I think I realized I was blissfully sprinting right at a brick wall…

“He… he kept saying we weren’t forever, but our memories were. I just… But… what if I can’t live on memories alone? Because this really is… forever. For me. Completely. I have no doubt about it. So I really, really don’t know what I’m doing, Sam. Last night I promised him I would never regret it – regret us – but I… I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can keep that promise.

“It just feels so cruel. I… I just spent hours in the shower crying, and this is… this is pathetic, right? I-I’m not okay. I’m really not okay, Sam. He’s my forever. How am I supposed to give him up? He’s my forever.”

“Oh, Blaine…” Sam breathes and Kurt can’t hear anything besides a few deep, shuddering breaths.

It’s like the ground has been taken from under his feet and he can’t move. He can’t do anything that isn’t hold his breath and try not to feel.

 


	18. Home

It’s Santana who eventually snaps him out of it, coming out of her own bedroom and then staring at him with a raised eyebrow, “Your brain stopped or something?”

He shakes his head, more to himself than to her, and forces his hand back towards the door. He knocks and tries not to let his voice shake as he says, “Lunch is ready, you guys.” He speeds off back out of that corridor and doesn’t wait to look back.

“Five minutes!” he hears Sam voice call out.

At the table Blaine sits next to Kurt, as usual, but if he notices Kurt’s silence he doesn’t make a show of it, as, he too, spends most of the meal with red-rimmed eyes on his food and slow, disheartened movements. Kurt can’t decide if he wants to pretend or not, so he settles for kissing Blaine’s cheek when it’s time to leave the table and get back to work – Blaine goes in one direction, Kurt in another.

He spends his day in a haze. He doesn’t really manage to pay attention to the itinerary Sebastian and Elliot are drawing up, discussing pros and cons of this or that place. When they ask, he says he couldn’t possibly begin to know valuable information for that debate – which isn’t a lie -, and not that he’s just pretty much trying not to go back to nightmares of a heartbroken Blaine, destroyed and crumpling in blood stained snow.

When there’s nothing else to do for the day, and he’s got nothing he can pretend to do, he makes his way to his bedroom on auto-pilot. He strips and climbs into the shower and turns the water to boiling. He doesn’t leave until his skin is red and raw and his tears are long gone, washed away and replaced with pure, clear, emotionless water. He skips dinner, he’s not there for those couple of hours into the evening when everyone’s relaxing and laughter comes a little easier – that day he doesn’t think he could be there for that. He misses goodnight’s and sleep well’s.

“He’s my forever…” Blaine had said.

Kurt stares at his naked body in the mirror and clenches his jaw. Blaine wants him – Blaine wants him forever.

If he’d ever want to be someone’s forever, it would be Blaine’s.

If he’d ever want to have a forever, it would be with Blaine.

If? _If_? Kurt laughs bitter and sad, as he challenges his reflection.

 _You_ want _it. You’ve wanted it since you held his bloodied hand and made him sing some song with strange words in a strange world_.

He doesn’t let his thoughts wander any further. Instead he yanks his bed sheet and wraps it around his body. Before he knows it he’s closing Blaine’s door behind himself and locking it.

Blaine startles from where he’d been sitting on his bed, still in his day clothes, hugging his legs to his chest and staring at his hands. Kurt wonders how long he’s been just sitting there trying to hold himself together.

“Kurt…!” Blaine gasps, wide eyes and pink cheeks. He freezes for a moment, a scared look on his face. The smile that does come across is nervous and tentative. Blaine’s clearly not pretending like today wasn’t weird. When Kurt doesn’t either, the smile vanishes altogether. He frowns and stands, stopping himself halfway across the room.

Kurt doesn’t say anything as he lets the sheet pool around his feet, and feels himself crash into Blaine’s arms, arms encircling tight, and lips delivering his hungry kiss to the best of their ability. Blaine pulls back, confused and even a little scared, and searching Kurt’s eyes for some sort of clarity.

Kurt shakes his head and says, “Please…” he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for – love, mercy, masochism, forgiveness, pain. Still, Blaine seems to be willing to give him anything, and like that, he’s framing Kurt’s face with both his hands, strong, unwavering, and his kiss has Kurt holding on for dear life.

They stumble their way to the bed and crash into it in a mess of limbs and feverish movements.

Kurt’s hands are shaking, but they still somehow manage to rid Blaine of his shirt, of his pants, of his underwear.

It’s exactly like Kurt’s nightmare. It’s hot skin on hot skin, moving and gliding and so much pleasure. Touching everywhere, feeling everything, seeing, breathing, tasting each other, themselves in each other. This time, though, there’s a definition for the way their bodies move and align, for the way their hands cling to each other, their legs wrap and hold on, their arms support and their teeth mark. It’s love.

This time, unlike the nightmare, Blaine doesn’t stop it. Blaine doesn’t tell Kurt he has to leave.

So they keep going. They keep going until there are silent screams, and choked off gasps and there’s a mess between them, with sweat and come and tears.

Tears, so many tears.

Because Kurt’s crying – Kurt is crying like he’s only ever cried twice in his life. Like he’ll never be able to stop crying again.

Blaine stares up at him, where Kurt is still straddling him, legs tight and strong against Blaine’s hips, still bracing himself with a hand on each side of Blaine’s head. Tears are falling thick and heavy on his chest as Kurt heaves and sobs, and shakes. For a moment Blaine just freezes. He looks scared and confused and Kurt can’t even stop for the one second it takes to apologize. He doesn’t get to shake his head or stutter a single syllable before he’s being pulled down, his arms giving into it immediately and letting himself shrink into the embrace.

All he wants to say is _I’ll stay here, I’ll stay here with you because you’re my forever too._

But he can’t.

All he wants to say is _You’re my forever and it’s not painful because we will live forever._

But he can’t.

All he wants to say is _I’ll never hurt you! I’ll never leave you!_

But he can’t.

Instead, all he can say and keep saying, until he’s hoarse and the shaking has stopped and the sobs have faded, is “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

-x-

He doesn’t remember falling asleep or even being close to it, but he wakes up with the soft, warm touch of Cat’s tongue on his nose. He blinks his eyes open, unable to stop himself from smiling even as it feels like his eyeballs have been gauged out and slammed back into their sockets. She keeps licking his nose until he sits up and picks her up, guiding her gently to his lap, fingers already threading tenderly through her fur – she cuddles in close and needy.

He’d almost expected to be alone, but as he looks up he finds Blaine sitting on his desk chair like he’d been the night before – hugging his legs close to his chest, chin hooked over his knees. He’s looking at Kurt with a fond, if a little sad smile, wearing nothing but his underwear.

“Hi…” he says after a moment’s silence.

Kurt can feel his throat thick and raw from the night before, “Hi.”

“I…” Blaine starts but his voice fades and he frowns and doesn’t start again for a while, “I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be asking.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and swallows the lump in his throat, “I overheard you talking to Sam yesterday.” He mutters, “You… you said I was your forever.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything, but something shifts in his eyes, like he’s that much more vulnerable. Like he never meant for Kurt to see beyond his calm, rational declarations of enjoying the time left, and dealing with what comes next when it comes. Kurt was never meant to know Blaine was that scared of the future.

“And I… I couldn’t… I didn’t know what to think. I-I feel like that, too. I think. But mostly I just… I don’t understand what we’re supposed to do. Because it’s all so… fucked up.”

Blaine looks at him with worried, sad eyes for a long time before he sighs, “When we fell in love we didn’t really think we’d fall this much, did we?”

Kurt can only return his gaze and shake his head, tears prickling his eyes again.

“We went in for a fickle romance. We wanted a young, reckless first love… and ended up with the love of our lives.” Blaine mutters. He sniffs, eyes a little bright and finally looks away from Kurt. His jaw is clenched and there’s a tension to his movements, as he runs a hand through his curls and sucks in a breath that hints at an eruption of emotion waiting to happen. A tear falls suddenly from his lashes. He looks back at Kurt, on the brink of collapse, and smiles, absolutely miserable.

Kurt doesn’t know when he started crying again – only notices as he’s suddenly gasping for air, throat tight and painful.

“I-I… I can stay.” He gets out through sobs, “I can stay. I don’t have to go.”

“What? Kurt, no!” Blaine’s arms hold himself a little tighter, “Kurt, _no_.”

“I-We don’t even know if I’ll be able to leave – I… maybe I can’t. I- we don’t have to find out. We don’t have to try, Blaine, I just – I can’t – I can’t-”

“But this isn’t your home. You _want_ to go back. You want – you have – you have dreams, Kurt, and I…” Blaine argues, smaller and smaller with each word, “I can’t let you do that. I can’t.”

“But I love you.” Kurt breathes. The sound rings loud and fills the entire room between them, it crawls over the scattered clothes from last night and the messy sheets, it makes them heavy and meaningful, “ _I love you_.”

“You shouldn’t.” Blaine breaks. In a split second he’s gone beyond repair, his face a picture of hurt and pain, as he shakes his head and holds himself barely together, body trembling. Kurt watches, feeling completely and utterly spent, as Blaine buries his face in his hands and doubles over, shoulders shuddering as violent sobs begin to wreck his body. Kurt can’t make himself move and reach out for him – he doesn’t know why, but he just can’t. And the space between them keeps growing, and growing and growing.

Cat’s still in Kurt’s lap. Her body is shaking and she lets out a cry almost as loud as Blaine’s. He wishes he could make himself pet her. Instead he knows he’s the only one to blame for all of it. And Blaine. It’s their own fault.

They were _kids_. They were naïve. They were so, so clueless.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispers.

Blaine looks up, eyes red and wet. He doesn’t say anything; he just screws up his face even more and tries to hold in his sobs.

There’s a knock at the door, and it’s like the bedroom shrinks back into something that isn’t their whole world, their whole desperation. It’s a shock to the system and neither of them is anywhere near ready when the door swings open and Will comes in.

“Blaine, I need-Oh!”

Blaine acts as if he’s just been shocked, jumping to his feet and wiping his tears hurriedly with the back of his hands, “Yeah?”

“I… Huh, I… need everyone in the conference room.” Will says slowly, “When you-when you can.”

“Sure.” Blaine nods, sniffing hastily and bending over to grab at the clothes scattered across the floor, “Five m-minutes.”

“O-okay.” Will nods and shoots out of the room.

Kurt can’t make himself move, yet, so instead he watches Blaine pull on clean clothes and shoes. When he slips in the bathroom he listens as the water runs harsh and strong and then as it splashes against skin. Blaine emerges toweling his face dry. It didn’t actually help – his eyes are still red beyond salvation. He tosses the towel on the chair as he looks around for something else to do. Kurt notices the way his hands are shaking as they reach for Kurt’s bed sheet and puts it, hastily folded, over his desk.

“Are we over?” Kurt breathes, his voice is so small that for a moment there he thinks Blaine didn’t hear it. “Did we break up?”

Blaine takes a shuddering breath and schools his features, clearly struggling not to crumble again, “I don’t know.” He says before he slips out of the room.

Kurt allows himself fifteen more seconds of paralysis before he crawls out of bed. His stomach is a mess of dried come and he takes a shower before he steals some of Blaine’s clothes and makes his way to the conference room where, he’s sure, no one really waited for him to start the mysteriously urgent meeting.

He’s in such a trance that it isn’t until he opens the door that he notices Finn’s voice, loud and stressful, “No! Absolutely not! She can’t!” his face is red and angry, “I don’t know why you even put her as an option! She’s not fully trained and-”

“I am absolutely fully trained, Finn!” Rachel interrupts, eyes squinted and feral, “And I _will_ go! I don’t need your permission to accept a mission for which _all_ of us volunteered!”

“You-”

“I was the only one selected! I am our only shot at having an actual inside man at that castle! Our original plan is already shot to the ground and I’m the only thing keeping the whole idea even remotely afloat!” She practically screams in his face, “And it’s my choice to do this! _My choice!_ ”

“Bu-”

“Weren’t you just the other day telling us that if people wanted to riot it was their right to do it? Well, don’t _I_ have that right?”

“I-I…” Finn seems to have lost his words, his anger dissipating and gradually turning into fear and something much more daunting. He stares at her for a long time before he takes a deep breath and sits down. His knuckles are white as he sinks his head in his hands and grasps his hair. He doesn’t move again.

Rachel deflates visibly, shoulders sagging as her eyes follow his movement and there’s a ghost of a sad smile before she takes her own seat and turns back to Will, “You were saying…?”

Will looks a little lost for words for a second there before he closes his eyes and shakes his head. Upon clearing his throat, he starts, “You’ll have to leave for Dalton the day after tomorrow. The Dalton cell will have a house ready for you, and they’ll make it as realistic as they can. In the meantime, you need to seriously study up because your fake identity is a Dalton native.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ve already started on most of that.”

“Now, of course you’ll be communicating mostly with the Dalton cell, and maybe we need to choose one person there to be your handler, which I’m hoping Wes will agree-”

“I’ll do it,” Blaine says. His voice is low, but steady and it’s just enough to be heard around the entire table.

“What?” Will frowns.

“I’ll go with her. I’ll be her handler.” He’s looking at his hands on the table and no one else, “If Sebastian is with Kurt then Dalton doesn’t have a wizard. They can’t be left that exposed or vulnerable. I’ll secure them, and I’ll be Rachel’s handler.” He talks without emotion, or urgency. As if he’s reading lines.

“I…” Will’s looking at Blaine like he’s asking to go kill a fire-breathing dragon.

“I know Dalton better than anyone here.” Blaine says, clenching and unclenching his jaw once he’s done.

Sam is staring at him with his mouth open and Santana looks almost betrayed.

“It-it makes sense.” Quinn offers, a little uncertain, “No one can help her more than him, and the Dalton cell is risking a lot by giving us their wizard without a backup.”

“I-We-we need you to work on breaking into the castle.” Santana shakes her head, “You’re the one who knows how to do it.”

“I’ve told you everything I know. And I can gather more information there than I can here, I’ll report back as much as I can with new data.” He still hasn’t looked up. He hides his hands under the table. They aren’t nearly as steady as he’s forcing his voice to be. “Quinn and Puck can replace me on that taskforce. Sebastian’s more than capable of spearheading your expeditions.”

Kurt doesn’t know exactly what’s happening or what his feelings are doing right now, but he’d imagine a bullet to his body would be a lot less painful.

-x-

The meeting is over pretty fast. Everyone’s dismissed, except for Rachel and Blaine. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but Kurt leaves the room and lets Blaine stay.

There’s an unusual hush over everyone as people disperse into various parts of the house. Santana steps in front of Kurt and glares, “What did you do?!”

Kurt barely has the energy to glare back, so he shrugs and walks around her. He couldn’t possibly go to Blaine’s bedroom, and he can’t go to his because then he’ll be alone with the realization that it’s over. Even if he claims he doesn’t know, directly or indirectly, Blaine just forced it to be over. He finds the staircase to the second floor and decides to go see if the refugee camp recruits are there. Elliot and Dani seem like they’ll be good people to get to know and he could use a conversation with someone who doesn’t know about him and Blaine and all the drama attached.

The second floor of the Inn is just another long corridor of rooms. One of them is Will’s study, but mostly they’re empty for whenever needed, and the recruits have been staying there.

There are voices coming from a room and he follows them to an open door where Dani is taking up most of the bed, holding a book over her face as she squints, looking at some sort of illustration, while Sebastian and Elliot sit on the floor, a piece of paper between them and pens in their hands. They seem to be playing a game Kurt doesn’t know – they’re laughing and teasing each other.

Sebastian looks up at Kurt’s entrance, still smiling he says, “You look like shit.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as Elliot turns around and winces, “You actually do. Something wrong? It looked like a pretty important meeting you were having.”

“Meaning we could hear the giant screaming his face off.” Sebastian supplies, and smirks when Elliot shoots him a mild glare.

“It’s… it’s fine. Somewhat according to plan, actually.” Kurt shrugs, “Do you mind if I join you?”

“I think you’re starting to like me.” Sebastian grins, “Seeking my company and all.”

“I was actually seeking theirs,” He flicks his finger between Dani and Elliot, “but hey… we’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the next week, aren’t we? Might as well get used to it.”

Sebastian gives him one of his trademark annoying smiles, and Elliot balls up a piece of paper and throws it in his face before returning his attention to Kurt, “We’re playing Stop, do you want to join us?”

“I have no idea what that is.” Kurt shrugs.

“We can teach you.” Elliot winks, “Come on.”

Sebastian is a little useless in teaching him anything as he mostly just pokes fun at anything and everything, should the situation present itself (and with him, it always does), but Elliott’s a decent teacher, and Dani pipes up every now and then, still a little too absorbed in her book to pay them much attention, and eventually Kurt agrees to play for real. It’s a simple enough game and he did want to take his mind off things.

“And with _that_ ,” Sebastian makes a show of his last play, after almost an hour of it, “I’m spectacularly victorious!”

Elliott scoffs, “You beat me by one point, how are you _spectacularly_ victorious?!”

“Because, sweet little child, I have managed to maintain a gripping level of suspense throughout the game and still win – _spectacular_!” He cups his hands around his mouth and mimics the sound of crowds cheering, to which Elliott rolls his eyes, even if he can’t quite hide his amusement.

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, _kid_.”

Kurt lets himself smile as well and balls up the piece of paper they’d been playing on and pretty much just shoves it in Sebastian’s mouth with a triumphant “Ha!”

Sebastian spits it out and leans into Elliot in a stage whisper, “It seems our King is a sore loser.”

“Yes, yes it does.” Elliot agrees and Kurt flips them both off with a laugh.

“Well!” Sebastian claps his hands, and starts getting up, “As enjoyable as hanging out with you losers is, we should actually start working. I’m going to round up the rest of the guys and we should start drawing up a protocol for our actions, now that we have the itinerary. Dalton should give us a green light anytime now, and we should be ready when they do.” He hops over the two of them as he leaves the bedroom and Kurt doesn’t miss the way Elliot’s eyes follow the movement eagerly.

Kurt doesn’t know if it amuses him or makes him feel worse about his own troubles, but in the end, he just gives Elliot a smirk and nudges his knee with his foot. The other man blushes and shrugs as he sighs and jumps to his feet.

“You heard the man, Dani. Leave the creepy book alone and let’s get to work.”

She hums in agreement but doesn’t move even as they both leave the bedroom.

-x-

That evening, when Kurt no longer has anything left to truly distract himself with, and he’s just sitting on the couch, staring at the door and willing Blaine to cross it so he can at least look at him and try to find some sort of answer, Rachel sits next to him with a small nervous smile.

“Hi,” she greets him tentatively.

He looks at her and gives her a breathless smile. “Be careful over there,” he tells her, “I’ll miss you.”

She smiles a little wider and wraps her arms around her shoulders, “I’ll miss you, too.” She murmurs, “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Of course.” He nods.

“Do you think you could make me a dress?” Her eyes are bright and fidgety and her cheeks are flushed as she bites her lip, “A really nice dress.”

“I… what – why?”

She just smiles, “Can you? If I get you the fabric, can you do it? For tomorrow.”

“I…-huh- Yes.” He can’t help nodding as she looks up at him with wide, eager eyes, “Yes, of course.”

“Alright. I’ll be in your room with some fabric in an hour. I just have to go on a scavenger’s hunt!” She kisses his cheek swiftly before she disappears towards the bedrooms.

He stares after her, frowning and feeling like he’s got a pretty good idea what the dress is for. The thought makes him smile. It also fills him with insurmountable sadness for so many reasons he can’t quite know them all. With a deep sigh, he heaves himself off the couch and starts towards his bedroom. He’s almost at the door when Blaine comes crossing the corridor, still accompanied by Will. There’s a deep frown on his face.

Kurt catches his elbow, and Blaine doesn’t even seem startled by it. He stops and lets Will continue alone.

“So we _are_ over,” Kurt mutters once Will’s out of ear shot.

Blaine takes a moment to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” he says again, “I… I don’t know.”

“You’re leaving,” Kurt stabs.

Blaine shrugs listlessly, “So are you.” He breathes before he frees his arm from Kurt’s grip, slow and easy, and continues on his way down the hall. He doesn’t seem angry, or resentful – he just seems sad.

“Blaine, please…” Kurt calls after him, voice small but enough to reach his retreating figure. “This is not what I want.” Blaine falters – his shoulders tense and his hands in fists but then Santana calls for him, on the other end of the corridor and Kurt doesn’t find out if Blaine was about to come back to him or not.

As he watches him leave, Kurt doesn’t know if Blaine was talking about Kurt’s travels around the kingdom, or if he was referring to when Kurt would leave for good. They are both true, and they are both a weight on their shoulders. He takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw to keep himself from succumbing to the panic yet again.

On his bedside table, there’s Burt’s cap and he puts it on as he sits and waits for Rachel to come back.

She stumbles into his bedroom with an armful of yellow fabrics – shirts, pants, coats – anything yellow that she seems to have clearly stolen from every closet in the house, and a pile of instruments on top of it. Kurt hurries to pick up the scissors and sewing kit, so she can balance the rest better and put it down on his bed.

He looks at the whole thing with a sudden bout of determination and peace of mind. He’s got something to do.

He picks up a piece of paper and a pencil and he starts sketching, Rachel hovering over his shoulders and soon learning not to pipe up too much or too often. When he puts down the pencil and picks up the measuring tape, his bedroom door inches open.

Blaine comes inside holding three plates full of food and smiling a little weakly, “Can I help?”

Kurt almost says no, but this rift between them was never what he wanted, no matter how much it hurts to know they’re completely doomed to lose. He returns Blaine’s tentative smile and nods. Cat comes in trailing after Blaine and immediately settles to watch them, curling up on Kurt’s pillow.

They eat while they work. Blaine makes the process significantly easier, but they still work well into the night, trying and re-trying when something doesn’t work as well as Kurt imagined it would.

Rachel doesn’t tell them what the dress is for, and neither of them asks, even though they all know.

“I’m glad you’re coming with me, Blaine.” Rachel says when he ties a sash around her waist so Kurt could appreciate the result, “I’ll feel a lot safer with you there. Thank you.”

Blaine’s fingers brush her bare elbow as he finishes tying it and steps away, “Of course.” His voice is barely there, as it has been all evening. She follows his movement and catches his hand, squeezing it once before letting go and turning back to Kurt with a deep breath and a bright smile.

“So, is it coming together?”

Kurt clears his throat, biting back the resentment churning in his stomach at their interaction, and returns his eyes back to the sash he was supposed to be deciding on. “It’s not coming apart, so, that’s something,” he offers with an awkward chuckle and she laughs.

It’s a simple dress – it’s strapless and knee length, and the fabrics aren’t rich or exquisite. It’s got a full skirt that opens as she twirls around in one spot, and the fabric hugging her torso tightly still lets her move without constriction. It’s not a gown, or breathtaking, but it’s bright, happy and lively. It compliments Rachel’s figure just as much as it does her smile and her warm, brown eyes. And for that reason, it might actually be perfect.

It’s the brink of dawn when they finish. Blaine runs his fingers gently around her waist, a trail of beautiful little flowers sprouting with his touch, and kisses her cheek.

“You’ll do it?” she asks him, eyes a little watery.

“Of course.” Blaine nods, his voice that deep tone it gets when emotion is tight in his throat, returning her smile with a hug.

There’s a soft knock at the door and Quinn pokes her head inside. Her eyes catch Rachel’s and she gives her a bright, warm smile, “Rachel, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“Would you come with me? I’d like to do your hair,” Quinn asks, sounding the shyest Kurt’s ever heard her.

Kurt’s struck once again, and probably not for the last time, of how much baggage there is in this house that he doesn’t know of, and maybe never will. Rachel sniffs with a tearful beam and nods, holding out her hand for Quinn to take and letting her guide her out of the bedroom.

The door’s been closed for a long while before Kurt can make himself look away and find Blaine.

He’s already looking back, standing next to Kurt’s desk, twisting a few scraps of fabric between his hands and smiling softly. Kurt closes his eyes and wonders if he should be committing Blaine’s beauty to memory – if it’s a mistake to give into this so fiercely. But it’s not like he has a choice in the matter.

Before he can make himself look again, there’s a brush of lips against his, and Blaine’s hand is cradling his jaw, strong and tender at the same time.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” Blaine mumbles, “I know I shouldn’t do this, but-”

With a broken sigh, Kurt kisses back – interrupts him and forces Blaine’s words to stop, covering his lips and busying his tongue with something much sweeter, less painful. Blaine whimpers, and Kurt just keeps going so there’s no more space for words and withdrawals. He keeps going until they’re naked in his bed, panting and clutching at each other with high gasps and low moans.

This time they come, digging fingers into flesh and swallowing loud sighs, and it’s over, he doesn’t cry, and neither does Blaine. They hold each other close, and there are fingers buried sweetly in his hair as he looks up and pledges his love in soft whispers, lest Blaine forget it for one second.

Blaine breathes slowly and carefully, his naked chest rising and falling with Kurt’s ear pressed over his heart.

“If you could go home right now – no court witch needed. If you could go home _right now_ … would you?”

“That’s not- that’s not the case. It’s not possible.” Kurt holds on a little tighter.

“If it were,” Blaine murmurs, “would you?”

Kurt lifts his head so he can look Blaine in the eye. There’s something there Kurt can’t quite identify. It makes his stomach turn heavy.

“I… I don’t know.”

Blaine doesn’t press for a better answer. He just traces Kurt’s features with his fingertips and then nods wordlessly, guiding them back to their previous position. He looks about as broken as the morning before. Maybe even more, but there’s also something lying underneath the surface, some sort of strength or resolution and Kurt wishes he could know what it is. He doesn’t know how to ask and Blaine doesn’t tell him.

It’s unclear how long they stay there, lying in each other’s arms, until there are more and more voices outside and any minute now Rachel is going to knock on that door and tell them it’s time. When she finally does, Kurt asks for ten minutes and she tells them they have five. The two boys exchange a fond smile before Kurt crawls out of bed, bedspread wrapped around his body, cracks the door open and tells her, “Fine. We’ll be right out.” She makes a show of dragging her eyes up and down his bed sheet clad body and giggle and he can’t help the blush and sheepish smile.

Minutes later, clean and dressed, Blaine’s opening the door when Kurt catches his wrist.

“No,” he says, “I wouldn’t go home, now. I’d want to see this through first.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything. He looks at Kurt, a little speechless. His body looks lighter, somehow, as a smile starts blooming and his cheeks turn pink. His eyes are bright and he finally opens his mouth to speak when Rachel yanks the doors open.

“Time’s up! Come on!” She grabs both their elbows and drags them out with surprising strength.

When Kurt looks at Blaine, desperately wanting to know what he was about to say, he finds him laughing at Rachel. The sight eases the anxiety, and he lets himself be hauled through the corridor. As long as Blaine keeps smiling, he can wait.

She stops at the door to the living room, and manhandles Blaine towards it. “You go outside and get everything and everyone ready!” she tells him and he obeys without protest, jogging away.

“You,” she turns to Kurt, “are going to walk me.”

“Walk you?” Kurt frowns.

“Yes, walk me.” She grins.

“Wa- _OH_!” he gasps, “Walk you down the aisle?!”

She frowns slightly, “I- Well, I guess sometimes it’s an aisle, but-”

“Never mind, I get it!” he breathes, grabbing both her shoulders and locking their eyes, “You’re sure? Isn’t this – this is a big deal, right?”

She beams, “Of course I’m sure. Yes, I’d like you to walk me to my future husband, please.”

Kurt gives her a tight hug and doesn’t let go until Mercedes is squeezing their shoulders softly and saying, “Everything’s ready.” She leaves, and Kurt takes a deep breath, hooking a finger under Rachel’s chin and smiles.

“Are _you_ ready?”

She beams and nods, “Let’s do this!”

He laughs and offers his arm. She loops hers through it, and they start walking, crossing the empty living room to the front door. Mercedes gives them a wide smile and a wink as she signals someone outside and holds the door open for them.

It’s warm outside, and the grass is greener than it should be, flowers everywhere as everyone’s sitting in a half circle a few yards away, Sam idly playing a soft melody on his guitar. Blaine’s standing in front of everyone, looking only a little nervous.

Kurt frowns when he doesn’t see Finn immediately, but then the movement catches his eye and he finds him, Puck by his side, walking towards the gathering, just like Rachel. Finn’s face is flushed, his eyes are bright, and he can’t quite keep his grin to himself.

They reach Blaine more or less at the same time, and Finn looks Kurt in the eye and says “Thank you”, while Rachel does the same to Puck, before it’s as if everyone else around them has evaporated and they can only stare at each other.

Kurt follows Puck’s lead, sitting down at his end of the half circle, and Blaine clears his throat. Everyone laughs as the couple actually startles.

“Hi!” Blaine tells them with a laugh, his tone teasing.

Rachel sticks her tongue out to him, but turns her body in his direction nonetheless. Finn does the same before reaching out to take her hand in his.

“I’m honored,” Blaine starts, his voice carries, but it’s still soft and intimate, “to be the one uniting you for life. Thank you.” He gives each of them a bright smile; “I’ve watched you grow from tentative crushes to boundless love. I couldn’t possibly begin to describe how much admiration I have for your courage and your spirit, but especially for your dedication to each other. This ceremony may be symbolic, but your marriage won’t. It’ll be for you, it’ll be for life. And it’ll be forever.” He takes a deep breath and clears his throat again, “Would you like to say something?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Just do it!” she urges and everyone laughs again. Finn ducks down to kiss her temple.

“Your soul necklaces, please.”

They take each other’s necklace off, with excited, trembling fingers (it takes a while), and then hand them over to Blaine.

“Your hands.”

Rachel and Finn hold out their joint hands toward Blaine, who deposits the necklaces there and then covers their hands with both of his.

“Rachel?” Blaine prompts softly.

She looks at Finn – her eyes are brimming with tears as she beams, “My heart is yours.”

“Finn.”

“My heart is yours.”

Blaine gives each of them a nod and a smile before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. A few moments later there’s a bright red light emanating from their bundle of hands. They don’t move or say anything all the while. It feels a little as if time’s slowing down. There’s a gentle breeze blowing through Rachel’s dress, the golden sun is shining bright on Finn’s flushed cheeks.

Blaine’s hands lift slowly from the couple’s and he takes several steps back, but the bright light persists.

“I love you _so much_ …” Finn breathes, yanking his eyes off their hands and looking at Rachel. His voice is but a soft, reverent whisper, and Kurt’s not sure if it’s part of the ceremony or if he just couldn’t hold it in. A tear slides down her cheek as she nods, too emotional to say anything back.

The light subsides only as they open their clasp on the necklaces. Each of them picks the other’s necklace before returning it to their owner, silver chains dragging delicately against skin, as fingertips clumsily clasp it back into place. Everyone laughs when Finn has to practically kneel so Rachel can put his necklace on him. The diamonds in the center shine a bright, beautiful red.

The two of them take one long look at each other before colliding in a fierce passionate kiss.

The moment is met with applause, whistling and loud whoops. They break away laughing, and let themselves be enveloped in a crushing group hug. Once they break apart, Mercedes takes both of their hands and says, “There may or may not be cake, inside.”

“Cake?!” Sam gasps, not even faltering before he’s sprinting towards the Inn.

“The first slices are supposed to be for the married couple, you idiot!” she calls after him – he doesn’t stop and she rolls her eyes, “Hopeless.”

Rachel doesn’t seem all that put off by the idea of Sam devouring the whole cake alone. She’s too busy beaming and hugging Mercedes with a heartfelt thank you and loud laughter.

Inside, everyone does get to eat a piece of cake – however small it may be. And Rachel and Finn still manage to have the first slice. As Rachel feeds Finn his first forkful, she breathes, “To my beloved husband.”

Finn grins at that and kisses her with frosting still on his lips. She yelps but doesn’t pull away.

He digs his fork into the cake and holds it out for her. She takes it neatly and chews carefully, pointedly even and making him laugh. He reaches out to touch a reverent fingertip to her soul necklace, traces the outline of her star and says, “You’re not just any star. You’re my Sun.”

-x-

The rest of the day is spent in simple, easy celebration. The music never stops, and there’s so much dancing it gets dizzying sometimes. There’s an underlying note of urgency to the day and to the happiness – in every one of their smiles there’s the knowledge that tomorrow the celebrating will be over and the words on their lips will be goodbye. Goodbye _for now_ , hopefully, but still goodbye.

Finn and Rachel dance together mostly – he’s not very good, but she’s nothing if not persistent and their shoes have disappeared a long time ago. Every once in a while she’ll be requested to dance with someone else, and she’ll graciously accept, returning to her husband’s arms as soon as the song is over.

Puck hoists her over his head and spins her around, and she cackles and lets him, holding out her arms like a beautiful dove, flying free. Her hair is messy, with strands falling in front of her face, but she’s glowing and her smile is infectious. He puts her down with a whispered, “I love you, princess” and Kurt feels guilty for overhearing. She hugs him tightly, “I love you, too,” before she lets Finn take her back into his strong arms, melting into his hold and having never looked happier or more alive.

Their bursting joy is contagious and around the room, everyone’s laughing, talking loudly, hugging, dancing, singing.

Kurt pretends not be watching when, in a far off corner as the sun sets and people are buzzed with heat and a little alcohol, Elliott leans in, hesitating only for a second, and kisses a surprised Sebastian. He pretends not to watch as the shock melts off Sebastian and gives way to affection; his hands come up to cradle the back of Elliott’s neck, and his body moves closer. Kurt can’t help smiling, though. He never knew Sebastian could be so gentle in his body.

“What. The. Fuck. Am I right?” Tina breathes next to him, pink cheeks and easy grin.

Kurt shrugs, “I think they’re cute together.”

Tina gives him a fleeting hug, “You’re cute!”, before she disappears – Kurt noticing Mike had taken a hold of her hand and was pulling her close. Next to them, Puck is dipping Quinn, and she’s laughing, loud and excited in a way Kurt had never heard from her. Even Mercedes and Sam seem to be taking their boundaries a little further down the road, dancing extremely close, foreheads pressed together.

It’s definitely a night for the lovers, but mostly it’s a night for any kind of love, pure and simple.

Kurt is struck by how much he doesn’t feel like an outsider. By how much he feels like he’s sharing in this emotion, and community. This strange, impromptu family. Especially, when a hand slides into his and he turns to find Blaine pulling him close.

“You dance?” Blaine asks, with a soft knowing smile.

“Only with you…” he murmurs, and lets Blaine wrap his arms around his shoulders and tuck his nose into the crook of his neck. They dance well into the night – sometimes it’s fast and fun, sometimes it’s slow and tender, but their hands never let go of each other.

Kurt’s just about ready to collapse anywhere – preferably on a bed – when Blaine steps in even closer and murmurs right into his ear. “We’re not over.”

“Okay.” Kurt nods, because it’s the only thing he can do to those words. The same questions remain. The same problems, the same heartbreak… it’s all the same and yet he can’t do anything but feel relief at those words, and he clings harder at Blaine’s body.

“I’ll go with you,” Blaine tells him.

That makes him stop. It makes the whole world stop. “What?” he pulls back to find Blaine’s eyes. They’re open and honest, but mostly they look utterly at peace for the first time since Kurt’s ever had the privilege of reading them in all of their emotional storms.

“When all of this is over, and you go home, I’m going with you.”

“Blaine…!” Kurt breathes, “I… what?”

Blaine actually looks amused, but he looks around, at all the people whose whole paradigm isn’t apparently shifting, still dancing, still laughing, and guides Kurt discreetly outside, sitting on the small couch at the back porch, guiding Kurt to sit next to him.

The green grass and the flowers are gone – the thin, thawing snow of winter’s end is back, but Kurt doesn’t feel even remotely cold. “After all of this is over, there won’t be a place in this world they won’t know who I am… who my father is. And… I feel like… I just… I just want to have a fair shot at being me. No expectations to meet, no apologies to give, you know, just me.”

“Are you- are you serious?” Kurt breathes.

“I’m beyond serious.” Blaine nods, “I want a fair shot at being happy.”

“Blaine, I… I can’t ask you to do this.”

“You’re not asking,” Blaine smiles, running a gentle hand through Kurt’s hair, “I’m telling you what I want to do. I want this for me, too. As well as for us.

“I – Oh my god – I – what about Cat? What about your magic! We don’t have magic in my world, I…”

“Well, we’ll just have to go in blind on that one…” Blaine gives him a sort of nervous smile, “I have no idea what’ll happen with that, but whatever does happen, it’ll be worth it. I know what I’m hoping for, but… I’ll take what I’ll get. As long as I’m with you…”

“Blaine…!”

“Kurt, that world is your home. This world? Outside of this house and these people?” he sighs and shrugs a little sad, “I’d like to think it _could_ be my home, one day, in the future, but for now it’s not, and it never has been. And so, maybe it just doesn’t have to be, you know?”

Kurt can feel the prickle of tears in his eyes, and he has no idea what he’s feeling, but it might actually be relief – relief like he’s never, ever experienced before in his life. Relief like he never knew one could feel.

Blaine reaches behind his own neck, and unclasps the silver chain of his soul necklace. He takes Kurt’s hand and covers it with his own, cool silver pooling between their palms, “Besides, they say that home is where the heart is.”

“Blaine…!”

“And you have mine.” He gives him a nervous, sincere smile.

“Oh my god.” Kurt’s hand is shaking as Blaine moves his hand away and he’s left with a swirl of silver chain and a beautiful red rose in the midst of his palm.

“You don’t have to wear it, but I can’t take this to Dalton with me, so I’d love it if you could keep it safe, for me.”

“Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, I…”

“Take care of Cat for me, too?” he asks softly, even though Kurt can only nod dumbly, “Thank you. I love you.”

“I-I love you, too.”

Blaine smiles, “I promise we’ll have our forever, okay? I promise.”


	19. Of Being Scared And Brave

Blaine steps out of Rachel’s arms and looks around himself. Nothing’s changed since he’s last been here. It’s the break of dawn and the Sun is still cold. Amidst the greys of the buildings and the greys of the skies there’s nothing but chill in the air. The streets are lined with the remnants of dirty, soggy snow, and there’s a skittish rat speeding its way across the road startled with their sudden arrival.

It’s a tough transition to make – from Kurt’s parting kiss to this decadent city. It feels a little cruel that when they finally got their act together they had been pulled apart. But what started as an impulsive act from Blaine, to get Kurt to hate him, to get him to see he was better off without Blaine, to get some distance between them and get used to the idea of life without Kurt, had turned into an absolute necessity. He touches his lips, wishing the taste would last forever, before he rolls his shoulders, shakes his head and starts toward the abandoned, ruined building.

Rachel tightens her coat around herself as she hastens to follow.

He whistles the coronation song and Jeff opens the trapdoor, but instead of inviting them in, he steps out to let Wes and Nick through. The usual security questions are answered and then Wes turns to Rachel, “You ready to go home, Ms. Brice?”

She breathes deep and nods.

Rachel’s – or better yet, Fanny Brice’s (name suggested and insisted on by Kurt) new house is a hole in the wall apartment, a second story on a thin old building. Her windows are dull and scratched and the floor creaks when one so much as fidgets.

“They’ll be here tomorrow, or the day after the latest for the check-ups – it’s covert, they won’t tell you who they are. They’ll probably pretend to be passing by asking for directions, so make sure you know them well. Then it’ll happen again two days later, and then you have the actual interview, in which they’re basically just going to inspect the house and ask you about your childhood and family.” He hands her a stack of papers, “These are the most frequent questions and what you should answer, know them well.”

Rachel looks a little stunned. Blaine squeezes her elbow.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t give you more time to prepare, but we’re walking a tight rope, here.”

“Right.”

“We should go, we don’t want the neighbors overhearing us, or just knowing there are people here other than you.” Wes gives her a solid pat on the shoulder and Blaine bites his lip to keep from laughing at the manliness of the gesture.

“Oh, huh, okay.” She nods.

“I’ll meet up with you guys.” He tells them carefully, “I just want a few words with Rachel first.”

For a moment, Wes looks like he might protest but ultimately he nods, turns on his heel and starts back out the door. He falters last minute and looks back. “Good luck,” he tells her before he leaves. Nick mumbles a repeat, shuffling right after. Blaine waits until the door is closed behind the two of them to turn back to Rachel.

He smiles at her pale, nervous face.

“You can do this,” he tells her and she only nods. “You memorized the route from here to the Dalton cell?”

“I – yes – but I’m not supposed to go there even-”

“Forget protocol,” he shakes his head. “If you for one second think they’re on to you, you go there. I’ll reinforce the protection and double-stock their portals. Just try to make sure you’re not followed there, but if you are, it’ll be handled.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, “Rachel, I can’t stress this enough – it’s vital that you don’t get arrested.”

“I was trained to endure torture,” she tells him, almost defiantly.

“No.” Blaine almost laughs. “You’re not in Anan, anymore. You’re in Dalton. They won’t need to torture you.” He can see curiosity and confusion mix with the fear in her eyes, and finally he watches as realization dawns on her, but he leaves it at that, knowing he needs to leave before the sun is breaking through the buildings. He shoves a hand in his pocket and retrieves the packet of elephant powder. He hands it to her, “Have some tea before you read those files.”

“Oh!” She gasps frowning at the packet, “How did you get this?”

“I’ve had it for years,” he shrugs it off. “I don’t need to tell you to dispose of any trace of it when you’re done?”

She shakes her head.

“Alright.” He nods, and gives her a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“I… yeah.” She nods.

He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear before he kisses her forehead.

“Rachel..?” he whispers, knowing he shouldn’t say anything.

“Yes?”

“If anything happens… to _me_. Please carry on. Follow protocol and carry on with everything as planned.”

She frowns, looking scared and panicked at the thought. He waits until she nods and finally, wondering if it’ll be the last time he sees her, hurries out of the building. At this time of dawn, when the streets are still a dull, dark grey he can’t risk a portal, its flash of light too obvious for the middle of the city, so he pulls his coat tight around himself and his hood over his face and takes the backstreets back to the Dalton cell.

-x-

As he sits in the middle of the abandoned warehouse, he gives a small impressed smile, letting Sebastian’s magic wash over himself. It’s powerful, yes, and to some extent it’s even very skilled and, some might even say, ambitious. But he can easily tell protection spells aren’t Sebastian’s forte. He dissolves them easily.

Carefully he places an old wooden box, with intricate carvings and bright colors, in front of himself and opens the lid with reverent fingers. He gives his box of powders and its contents of small velvety bags a small, sad smile. Time to say goodbye. They’ve always been a sort of safety blanket in the back of his closet ever since Isabelle told him how to go into her old chambers and get them before he even considered leaving; an answer for desperate times. Well, if there ever was a time to use them, it’d be now. He picks up the red velvet bag, the biggest one, containing the Melia Rock Salt, and slowly spreads it through the edges of the building. The Stem powder he only uses for the doors and windows.

Afterwards, he lays down in the center and lets his mind go blank as he stares at the ceiling and lets the conduits absorb the magic, his affection, his determination, the fierceness of his feelings towards these last few weeks – the protection, as strong as his own life.

That’s the secret to protection spells – you need to give them your life. Not literally, no. But you definitely need to feel as strongly as to say, “I would die for these people.”

Purpose goes a long way with magic.

Blaine never needed a book to tell him that – and it’s a good thing, too, because not one of them would have been able to teach him a protection spell as strong as he always needs them to be.

He smiles as he feels the warmth finally envelop the warehouse and its hidden underground crooks like a blanket without a rip or a frayed end.

When he sits back up, mind a little dizzy because he does it too fast, the sun is setting and he can feel himself a little weak. With a few deep breaths, he stands slowly and lets his head stop spinning before he gathers his things, puts them back in his bag and signals Jeff to open the trapdoor for him.

“Wow, you’re white as a ghost.”

Blaine gives him a weak laugh, “Well, that’s what happens when you spend…” he checks his watch, “fourteen hours draining yourself. Excuse me.” He moves slowly down the ladder and goes straight to the dormitories, barely remembering to swallow a bite of a cereal, sugary bar, before he crashes into the bed.

He wonders if Kurt’s packed and ready to leave for his own adventure.

As he rolls over his bed, no longer used to sleeping without a strong heartbeat next to his, he starts counting the days until news of Kurt’s return starts spreading like wildfire. He touches his chest in the spot his necklace usually rests.

One day.

-x-

It’s three days before he hears the first sign of noise. Three days of travelling back in time – being put to work in the Dalton cell is strange, after all the time he’s spent doing so many things so different, but still somewhat familiar, even natural to him.

These last weeks really will come full circle, he muses.

The best thing about having shown up to the cell without them asking is that they don’t really feel entitled to tell him what to do once he’s finished the share of work he volunteers for. Not even Wes. Oh, he’s tempted, alright – Blaine sees the looks, and the tongue biting, and the deep breaths… but the words never come and so he never does justify his actions to anyone.

Every afternoon, at rush hour, he leaves the cell and takes a long, long walk around the city. He sits for a while in the town’s square, and watches the people passing by. They’re much different from the ones back in Anan – they move faster, they look more alive. But they also look angrier, rougher. Like caged animals that were never properly drugged or domesticized. Blaine can’t quite decide if that’s good or bad, but he imagines it won’t be something in the middle.

He’s not people watching, though. No. He’s listening – he’s waiting and listening for the first sign of noise. It comes with the sunset on the third day.

It’s a young man. Twenty at the most. He hurries to an older man he calls by father and tells him the crown prince has really returned and is going to fight. The man tells him to shush, looks around for any guards. His eyes linger on Blaine, but apparently all it takes is a smile and the peeling of a tangerine to assuage him. Surely if Blaine’s doing something as mundane as eating a tangerine he’s not an undercover guard.

The boy keeps going. His words are fast and strong. His father tells him not to tell anyone. Not to discuss it with anyone. Not to even think about it.

Blaine knows, though. By dark, it’ll be everywhere. Tomorrow, it’ll be in the castle. The day after, it’ll be silence.

The calm before the storm.

He waits for details before he leaves that night – it’s like inhaling a breath of fresh air (sorely lacking in this damn city) when he knows it was Creania Kurt first visited. Not that it makes much difference, as they’re still separated and completely unable to communicate, let alone kiss or make love. But it’s news, and it’s about Kurt.

As he makes his way back to the cell he passes by Rachel’s street. He doesn’t cross the road or get too close, but she’s there and no one seems to be spying on her, so she’s quite in the clear.

The next day will probably be her interview. It makes Blaine’s mouth a little dry to think of it, but there’s something in his heart that tells him it’ll be alright.

The cell is still bustling with work when he gets back and pretends not to notice the disapproving looks. There’s a bitter taste to his mouth as he does, but he can’t actually deal with this. He’s not entirely sure why, but he just can’t make himself tell them he’s got bigger fishes to fry.

In fact, he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just tell Wes, or Rachel for that matter, about what he’s going to do, but in the back of his mind he just knows he can’t. They’d try to stop him. They’d convince him not to. And besides, it’s better if they don’t know – they might ruin everything with some idiotic, misguided backup mission. And he shudders at the thought of anyone being captured with that kind of knowledge – completely at the mercy of Isabelle and her talented eyes.

Instead he can trust them both to follow protocol and leave him be.

The next day, his pockets empty of everything and no bag on him, he watches from a rooftop as Rachel bids the guards who interviewed her goodbye. Nothing out of the ordinary. They leave without a second glance. He waits for an hour, no one comes to check. Another hour passes and still nothing. After three hours, it’s Rachel who leaves the house, purse in hand, in the direction of the market.

Appeased, Blaine makes his way off the building and doesn’t return to the cell. Instead, he blends with the crowds as each turn he takes is to a busier street.

He wonders one last time if he should’ve told anyone. It’s basic training 101: never go rogue. And yet, here he is. He swallows in dry and draws his breath.

His whistling perforates through the crowd like an arrow. Even the loudest voices falter as he whistles the Coronation song. Heads turn with wide, frantic eyes. Quickly, the people surrounding him have steered clear, desperate not to be confused with him when the guards inevitable come.

And boy, do they come.

In less than a minute, there’s at least a dozen guards surrounding him, guns drawn.

Blaine raises his empty, open hands and keeps whistling. One of the guards shoots but the bullet goes nowhere. Blaine gives him a pointed look, and continues. It happens another three times before, finally, one of the guards just comes over and yanks his hands down, twisting them behind his back and forcing him to his knees. Blaine goes willing and doesn’t protest as they tie his hands.

When he’s hoisted back up he looks around and sees the way people are gaping at him. There’s a lot of confusion and some fear. But mostly there’s curiosity, there’s respect, there’s hope something big is at play.

He finds the boy from yesterday and his father – the man recognizes him, and Blaine gives him the same smile he had before. Later that evening, the man will find a fresh tangerine in his pocket.

He catches other eyes – eyes he doesn’t recognize, but he makes sure they won’t forget his own. Revolutions need faces – the more, the stronger. He hopes at least one of them will recognize his, know his name and his face from all those months of it being splattered across front pages, years younger, too innocent. He knows he doesn’t look like that boy anymore – he’s not that boy anymore, but maybe someone familiar to the way young boys suffer into manhood will know how to recognize him. He catches as many eyes as he can.

He catches Rachel’s.

She’s pale, frozen to the spot, fallen apples surrounding her. He shakes his head and gives her the smallest smile he can – he hopes she sees it, but he can’t look back to check. Neither should she.

Instead, he lets himself be lead away.

-x-

The holding cell is designed to be intimidating. Dark, dingy, small, shackles attached to the wall everywhere. He barely keeps his laughter inside when they clasp big iron bracelets around his wrists and ankles. The minute they close the large iron door behind them he unlocks them and scratches his skin where the iron was grating.

Blaine was expecting better – at the very least some sort of anti-magic measures, but apparently they’ve really gotten cocky. Sure, he knows that Stem powder is rare and expensive and they can hardly have the budget to line every cell door, every lock, every shackle or even every bullet in the kingdom with Stem powder – he knows that’s reserved for the dungeons in the castle and for the bullets in his father’s gun. But surely they would know better than to put a wizard in a cell with absolutely no anti-magic protection.

He lets out a long, bored sigh. He’s also expecting to be made to wait. Basic interrogation techniques 101: make them wait, make them sweat.

Which is why he does laugh when there’s the sound of a key being shoved into the door. He clasps the shackles back on again.

The man coming inside is tall and burly. Blaine imagines he’s probably intimidating to most people. The way he smirks as he eyes Blaine with a sneer and a sniff tells him at least that’s what he thinks he is.

“Right, so how do you want to do this? Where should we start? Is there a finger you’d like to say bye-bye to?”

Blaine gives him an unimpressed look, “Are you asking me what method of torture I’d prefer?”

“I live to serve.”

Blaine nods, “Well, for the record, you start with sleep deprivation and starvation. It makes the mind more susceptible to suggestion.”

The man blinks. He’s thrown off, but tries not to show it. He crosses his thick arms over his bulging chest and grins, “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Blaine shrugs, “But there’s no need for torture. I’ll tell everything. To the right person.”

“I’m not the right person?!” He fakes offense.

“You are not.” Blaine agrees.

“Pray tell, who is this special, lucky man?”

“John Anderson.”

“The Commander in Chief?” the man barks with laughter. He laughs for straight five minutes. It’s strained and fake for more than half of that time. Blaine pretends not to notice, “You want to talk with the big man? Oh boy… Ain’t you a big dreamer.”

“What’s so strange about me wanting to talk to my father?”

The man’s smirk disappears for a moment, before he squints his eyes and forces it back on, “You ain’t Cooper Anderson.”

“No. I’m _Blaine_ Anderson.”

The man scoffs, “Nice try, everyone knows the kid’s dead.”

“Pull up an old newspaper, look at the pictures, look at my face, see if I’m lying. I have all day.”

“The kid’s dead,” the man insists with a shrug.

“Why don’t you ask my father about that?” Blaine gives him a defiant stare. The man returns it for a while.

“I’ll be back,” he says before yanking the door open and slamming it back closed behind himself.

He doesn’t come back. Instead, many hours later, men with nicer uniforms come to take him away. His hands are tied with stem-powder-laced rope and a bag is put over Blaine’s head, but he knows exactly where he’s being taken. He can feel as they enter a magically protected space, he feels his own magic struggling against the hold, trying to get free, and he can’t identify the feeling that takes over his body as he realizes it _could_ be free. If he pushed a little harder he’d be able to break the hold. He could actually get passed the ban on any magic that isn’t _hers_.

Afterwards, it’s the smell. He recognizes it as he’s taken through corridors and corridors and more corridors. “We’re taking the scenic route, then…” he mumbles when there’s another entirely unnecessary turn. He doesn’t get a reply.

The scent of too much lavender tells him they just passed right by his mother’s chambers.

Another completely unnecessary corridor later, the smell of tobacco, old, humid tapestry and stale air tells him he’s about to be told to sit down.

Sure enough, a hand grips his shoulder, quite painfully too, and shoves him onto a chair. He’s sat on it many times before.

When the bag’s yanked off his head he finds himself staring straight at his father. His big, ostensive desk between, the usual picture of perfection as only a few papers and closed, organized folders sit on it. John Anderson has his hands clasped at the center of his desk top; his shoulders are pushed back and straight as an example of perfect posture. His head tilts slightly and his eyes settle contemplative on Blaine’s. There are more wrinkles around them and his temples are gray.

“So, it is true,” are the first words he’s spoken to Blaine in years. He sounds almost amused. Blaine doesn’t say anything; instead, he offers him a tight smile. “What else is true, Blaine?”

“The crown prince has returned,” Blaine says.

“You’ve seen him.”

“Yes.”

“You know that I know that, though. Are you here to gloat? To tell me my days are numbered? To warn me I’d better quit while I can?” His father’s eyebrow is quirked, and while everything about him is calm and composed, Blaine can see his knuckles becoming white where his hands are still artfully resting.

“Jesse St. James,” Blaine says and his father frowns slightly, “You offered him freedom, somewhere else. A place of his choice where he could live in peace without your interference. I want that.”

“What?”

“I have someone. I want to live my life with them. I’m sick of running and fighting. I want out of this madness. So,” he looks his father in the eye, “You give me my freedom, I give you dates and places.”

“Of what?”

“Do I have my freedom?”

“It depends on what you’re giving me. I don’t make deals like that, and I sure as hell won’t take your word for it,” he tells him, “One would think you’d know your father better.”

Blaine forces a smirk onto his face and stops himself from a deep breath or even so much as a blink.

“Fine, call for Isabelle. That’s how you do it, right?”

His father squints.

“Is she not here anymore?” Blaine asks. He knows she is. It’s hers, the magic he feels. When John doesn’t say anything, Blaine just stares back. Finally, he stands, his movements hard and angry despite his impassive expression.

“Get the witch,” he says to the guard at his door.

Just as quickly, he's sitting back down and resuming their little staring contest.

“I knew you’d come crawling back one day,” John says after a while.

Blaine keeps himself from clenching his jaw or tightening his fists, “You _are_ my father, I guess.”

John’s lips twitch slightly, as if there’s a certain satisfaction he’s looking to conceal. “Your mother’s been worried sick,” he says. It’s a joke, clearly – Blaine’s just not sure at whose expense.

“What about Cooper?” he asks instead, “All nice and groomed to take over after you?”

John gives him a considering look before shrugging, fake casual. “It is what it is,” he says, “You know I had my eyes set on you.”

Blaine debates on what to say to that, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything at all when there’s a knock at the door and it’s opened.

He has to keep himself from gasping at the sight of Isabelle. She no longer manages to carry herself with the confidence he once knew. Her skin is pasty and glued to her bones. Her hair, where it used to be golden with streaks of silver, is mostly white and frayed. Her clothes are grey with dirt with most of the stitching ripped open. Her eyes are dull, until the moment they lay on him. She falters in her step and her lips part with a small, “Oh!”

He keeps himself from reacting in any way.

“Blaine here says he’s got interesting information for me, which he will trade in exchange for his freedom.”

She looks between the two of them, confusion on every inch of her face. Blaine gives her a daring stare, “Aren’t you the lie detector around here?”

She frowns deeper, but nods. The lines on her forehead are much more pronounced than they ever were – than they ever should be on someone her age.

“Well.” John rolls his eyes, “Get to it. We don’t have all day.”

She hesitates. Opens her mouth to say something but snaps it closed again. Blaine turns his chair and tries not to grit his teeth or clench his fists. He locks his eyes on hers.

She always said he’d become a better enchanter than her. No time like the present to prove that theory.

She’s not a time teller. She won’t be able to see anything that’s not at the forefront of his mind. The thing with that, though, is that what people most want to hide, in situations like this, is always what they’re thinking most of. And Isabelle _is_ good. But hopefully so is he.

As she raises her hands to his temples, and closes her eyes with a deep breath, he keeps himself from doing the same – his father would know better.

Instead he holds himself still, as he forces his mind into a whirlwind of clipped memories – some true, some fabricated. He shows her what he wants her to see and doesn’t even let himself wonder if it’s working. He thinks of riots and he thinks of deals with Carmen. He gives her Santana’s crying. He gives her talks of being tired and wanting to give up already. He gives her their exhaustion. He thinks of making love, but he puts Sebastian where Kurt’s supposed to be. He gives her things that are beyond private because he knows she won’t think these are authentic if he doesn’t show her things he never, ever would. He gives her a sixteen-year-old Blaine alone in his bedroom with a gun in his hand, barrel to his temple, shaking as he almost pulls the trigger. He gives her an eighteen-year-old Blaine with a cock in his mouth, and love in his eyes. He gives her everything he can, and what he can’t, he distorts. He turns it into something just different enough to work.

Memories have signatures to them. People remember things differently. People focus on specific details. If his fabrications stand stark against his real memories she’ll know. If there’s an inconsistency, she’ll know. If he lets himself even for one second doubt that he can do this she’ll know.

And yet, once her fingers leave his skin and she pulls back, she looks even paler. She looks sad. She looks so, so disappointed. Blaine doesn’t let himself tell her any different. He lets her think he’s deserting the cause, that this is all there is to it. He gives her a defiant look when all he wants to do is tell her, “Don’t you know there’s a lot you’re not seeing?”. Instead he keeps glaring and daring her to understand its meaning, _I was just a kid, I still am just a kid, what were you expecting? Why would put all that weight on a boy? Why did you think I’d survive all of that and not be crushed beyond repair?_ She catches what he needs her to catch – her eyes brim with tears of regret and he forces himself not to take it back.

“So?” John Anderson’s voice cuts through the tension.

She startles. A thick tear slides down her cheek. “R-riots,” she says, “There’ll be riots.”

“We knew that already.”

“And an attack from the South. Queen Carmen.”

-x-

The moment the door closes behind the guard, Blaine crashes into the floor, shaking and heaving like he never had before.

He has no idea how he managed to keep it together for so long. Now, away from his father’s eyes – or any eyes for that matter – he finally curls into himself and gives into the cries of every single cell of his body. He can’t begin to understand what he’s feeling – and that’s only making it worse – but he knows he hasn’t felt anything this intense since he was fifteen in his bedroom and waiting for his father to come destroy him. And it feels exactly like it did then. He _is_ fifteen again, alone in his old bedroom, absolutely terrified and completely unable to do anything to save himself or anybody else. Completely unable to move, to breathe, to exist.

He’s fifteen again and every horrible thought he’s ever had is coming back to him like an avalanche he has no way of stopping. He can only stand there and watch it grow infinitely bigger as it cascades toward him. He waits for the moment of impact – dreading the moment it’ll hit, but wanting it to just be over already. Every breath he takes is not nearly enough, and it just makes the avalanche go faster and the distance between them grow bigger.

He can feel the pressure in his chest – right in the middle, like it’s trying to burst through his ribcage – like the only way he’ll ever feel okay again is if he explodes. It’s never enough. The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, but the explosion never comes.

He tries not to let himself think of anything besides Cat, as he’s been doing all day, and telling her not to do anything. Not to save him, even though he’d give anything not to be here.

_Let me stay here. Stay safe, stay there. Stay there. Stay there._

For hours on end he just waits for something to finally break beyond repair. Instead, it’s the blackness that finally puts a stop to it and makes the room stop spinning. Exhaustion takes over his body.

He thought he’d never be ready to see his father again, and he was right. He hadn’t been ready now, and he still wouldn’t be ready in a hundred years.

-x-

When he wakes up, it’s the middle of the night and the room is bathed in moonlight. He realizes it hadn’t just been him freaking out earlier; he really _is_ in his old bedroom. And nothing has changed. He slowly pushes himself to his feet – chooses to ignore how his hands are still shaking and his knees are weak – and looks around him. It’s eerie how much it feels like every single object is exactly as he’d last seen it.

He touches the book on his bedside table, the marker still one third of the way in and shudders.

Before he knows it, he’s doubled over retching.

“I knew you’d come crawling back,” his father had told him. All that had been missing from his words was how pathetic he was sure Blaine was and always would be.

“Fuck!” he gasps as he spits the last traces of vomit, “Fuck…!”

He takes long deep breaths that finally feel like enough, and lets them out slowly. He sniffs, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He's wrong – his father is wrong. Blaine hadn’t come crawling back and he never would.

If anyone was pathetic it was him for being so easily played. For being so arrogant as to let it cloud his judgment and take whatever flimsy excuse Blaine gave him as plausible. If anything, Blaine should be thankful his father thinks he’s pathetic. It makes it easier to pretend to be.

It just means he’ll never realize Blaine is _exactly_ where he needs to be.

John Anderson must be feeling so proud of himself – so proud of having Blaine locked up in his worst nightmare. Blaine thinks of his little smirk, “We’ll see about that freedom when your information delivers. But for now, I think a little discipline is in order. To bed without supper, Blaine. You haven’t been a very good boy, and you’ll understand if I have to make the lesson stick.”

All the while he takes another deep breath and manages a smile, small as it may be, and tells himself again and again, until he believes it in every inch of his body and every crook of his mind.

“I’m exactly where I need to be.”

To Cat he thinks: _stay there and let me stay here. I don’t need you to save me. No matter what, I don’t need you to save me. Stay there and let me stay here._

Rolling his shoulders, he jumps and starts his body back into action. He tries the door and, to no one’s surprise, it’s locked. He can feel an enchantment on it, and he knows it’s Isabelle who’s keeping it so.

Well, it definitely turns out she’d been right. He’s a better enchanter. If because he truly was meant to be, or if because she’s too frail at the moment he’s not sure, but it's also not important. He has a job to do, and it’s going to be easier than he thought.

It doesn’t surprise him when he flicks his hand and the lock does click open.

He wonders if she felt it, but he hopes there’s still some loyalty in her; beneath the disappointment in his betrayal, he hopes she still loves him, that she’ll still protect him when she can.

He presses his ear to the door and waits to see if the noise alerted anyone or anything outside. He opens the door slowly. At the end of the hallway, there’s a guard standing with his back to him and his hands in his pockets, as he swings his weight from foot to foot, clearly trying to keep himself awake.

Blaine considers his options carefully.

He inches closer, breath held and footsteps as silent as Cat’s. With practiced ease, as soon as he’s reached the guard, he wraps his arms around the man’s neck and head and holds steady until the man’s body has gone limp.

He lowers him to the floor, checks his pulse – weak, but there – and pulls him back inside the bedroom. He’s quick to duplicate the guard’s clothes in his own. He steals the man’s weaponry. It’s the not the ideal disguise or cover – everyone in this castle probably still knows his face too well, and all the guards have been working here for years and know each other. But it’s the middle of the night and no one knows this castle like Blaine. He just needs something that helps him blend a little, from afar.

He checks on the last button and gives the unconscious guard one last look before he’s off, locking the door behind himself and jogging his way down the hallways. Time to get to work.

He considers going for his parents’ chambers – the same thoughts he had when he was younger, the same thoughts that have haunted him over and over again for years, come back and make his feet falter. But he knows better than to so much as try. He knows how secured those chambers were then, and he can only imagine how that’s increased since. He knows that’s where most of Isabelle’s protective magic lies, and while he could try to bypass it, he’d never manage that while fighting all the guards at the same time.

And then there’s the part he can’t quite bring himself to turn into a fully formed thought. He leaves it as a question, _could he ever kill his own parents?_ He just doesn’t even try to choose an answer for it, not sure which would be scarier.

He walks past the door leading there and only hesitates for a second, as he continues without looking back. If he can’t actually end it all tonight, he can’t start anything either. He can’t do anything that might alert their attention back to the castle. He needs them to think it’s safe for them to be here.

Which is why he’ll let them think that Isabelle can hold him captive in his bedroom – that there’s no need to move him to the dungeons, where the walls are lined with Stem Powder and he’d never be able to leave, the same way she can’t. He’ll let them believe they have him in control, while he gets reacquainted with every inch of this castle, with every person in here, and every schedule there is to know.

They can think he’s pathetic all they want, they can think putting him back in the bedroom of his nightmares is enough to leave him useless and scared, but in the end it’s their blind arrogance, their complete inability to understand magic, their refusal to even try that will end them.

-x-

He can’t help feel himself be pulled toward the dungeons. He avoids it – all night long, he visits hallways and rooms, back doors and trapdoors. He visits the kitchens and makes sure it still smells like Milly Rose’s cooking. He steals away into the Head Guard’s office and tries not to laugh at how easy it is to get all the information he would ever need to break into this place and run it to the ground.

In the end, he just can’t help himself. He’d be lying to himself if he said this isn’t half the reason he decided to do this. It may be selfish of him, but he needs it.

He goes down the stairs and takes long dark corridors he’s known like the palm of his hand since he was a child. He waves the guards off just as easily as he had that first time, and finally, he opens Isabelle’s door and finds her waiting for him like she always was.

“You know I’ve been using magic all night…” he tells her, “You can feel me, moving around the castle. You can feel me in control.” It’s not a question but she still nods. “You’re not going to tell them?” She shudders but shakes her head. “Why?”

She gives him a heartbroken look. “I still love you, Blaine,” she says, “That’s never going to change.”

“Not even because I let you down?”

She shakes her head and shrugs. “You know you’re like a son to me.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Instead he sits on the floor, in front of her, like he always did as a kid. His legs barely fit even as he folds them, and he wonders if she sees a man in him.

“Your father is never going to let you leave this place,” she says when the silence gets unbearable, and he shrugs. She frowns, and looks at him like a light has finally shone on a dark forest and she can finally see the way. “But you knew that already…” she breathes. “You were never… this isn’t about your freedom, is it?”

“I can’t tell you that,” he mutters. Already feeling guilty of giving into this.

“Blaine…!” she gasps. He can’t tell if she’s relieved he hasn’t deserted the cause, or hurt he doesn’t trust her.

No point pretending, then. “It was for your own good,” he tells her. “The less you know, the better.”

She wants to argue, clearly. Her mouth opens and closes, and she bites her tongue more than once. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, “I understand. You do what you have to do to keep the people you love safe.”

She breathes a bitter laugh, “Even if it means they’ll be ashamed of you for the rest of their lives…?” Her eyes are brimming with regret. He wishes he could tell her her fears were unfounded. He wishes he could tell her her family would always love her unconditionally. He wishes he could tell her they’d understand. But he knows better than to lie for the sake of comfort.

“ _I_ still love you,” he says instead.

She sniffs and wipes her tears away. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and then gives him the most heartbreaking smile. “You were always such a brave boy…” He can’t make himself return it because after his breakdown just hours ago, he feels like a weak little nothing.“You’re a man, now…” She reaches over to hold his chin in her palm, and runs a thumb over his clenched jaw, “You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

He lets his eyes fall to his feet and keeps his tears from coming. He lets his chin slip away from her tender touch, and draws his legs up to his chest, holding them tight. Maybe that way he won’t actually fall apart.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“The night they killed the King… When… when you opened the portal for Queen Elizabeth, how did you do it?”

She seems taken aback by the question. At first, he thinks she’s just going to tell him that’s a stupid question because opening portals is just the same thing every time. But she still seems lost for words after a minute, and then she shakes her head and holds a trembling hand to her chest, “I honestly… don’t know.”

He lets his breath go and closes his eyes, “Were you paralyzed with panic?”

“Yes.” She’s still shaking her head, like she still can’t believe it, after all this years, “I was completely paralyzed. All I knew was that I had to get her out of there, but we were in doors, and even if we hadn’t been I had all these protections around the castle and I couldn’t get my thoughts to stand still for a single second, and I just kept thinking she needed to be safe without knowing how to get her there, and next thing I know… she’s not there anymore. I blinked and she was gone.” She frowns and grabs his wrist, “I didn’t open that portal, _I didn’t_. It wasn’t even… it wasn’t a portal. It couldn’t be – it defied everything I know about portals, I…”

“I know.” He nods.

“You do?”

“It happened to me, too,” he says, “The night I escaped here. I didn’t open the portal – hell, like you said, I couldn’t even if I wasn’t indoors, you had the protections on the castle grounds, only you could open portals here. But I was… petrified, and I couldn’t move, I just… I needed to not be here anymore but I had no way of making that happen. I truly was completely paralyzed. And then, suddenly, I was outside. No light, no discomfort, no nothing… just the blink of an eye, and a headache.” He sees the confusion in her eyes, he understands she doesn’t have any answers, and maybe he does. “I think… I think it was Cat.”

“What?”

“I think Cat knew I was in danger, I think she saved me.”

“But… but totems can’t perform magic… they just… they gift it to us, but they don’t perform it.”

“You’re wrong,” Blaine tells her. “Cat saved _me_ , and your totem saved Queen Elizabeth.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Cat did it again. A few months ago. I was on a mission. We were breaking into a camp, and it was going… horribly. It was a disaster from the start, and nothing I could do could make it better. I was… desperate. I had a panic attack. While we were waiting to strike and everything started falling apart, and we couldn’t move fast enough to make it better, I had a panic attack. It was the anniversary of-of of Kitty’s disappearance, of Cooper selling me out, of… everything, and I just… I was so desperate for something to just _work_ , you know? I just… I just wanted a light at the end of the tunnel. I needed _something_ or it really felt like that was it for me – that I was done.”

“Okay…?”

“And that’s when he came back.”

“Who?”

“The Crown Prince,” Blaine says, “Queen Elizabeth’s son.”

“Blaine, honey, that’s-”

“Not a coincidence.” He shakes his head. “There’s something you should – you didn’t just open a portal for her to go somewhere else. She… she went to another world. That’s why we couldn’t find her anywhere. We could have looked for centuries, in this kingdom, in the next or the one after that. In forests, in deserts. We could have looked anywhere forever, and we wouldn’t have found her because she was in another world.” He almost laughs – he knows how insane it sounds, spoken like that. She’s looking at him as if he was telling her the world had turned upside down – maybe it did. “That’s where he came from, Isabelle. The Crown Prince. And it was Cat. She brought him – she brought him to me, because… well, because I needed him.”

“Blaine… I… I can’t… are you… sure? _Are you sure_? This is… this is insane.”

“It’s the truth. I think it’s probably happened before, with other enchanters, but… like you, or me, everyone just probably assumed it was some strange portal, some out of control moment… But now I -I just… I needed to know about you, so I could know for sure, but I do now. You didn’t save the queen, your totem did. And I didn’t... I didn’t save myself. Cat did.”

“Oh my… Oh… I…” She gasps and lets her head fall back against the wall.

He gives her a feeble smile and a breathless chuckle, “Been there.”

She returns his laugh, before she attempts to get her thoughts back together. “This Crown Prince…?” she starts, hesitant, possibly not sure what to ask.

Blaine can’t help the way the corners of his lips immediately twitch upwards, “Kurt.”

“Kurt – this Kurt… he’s… he’s…?”

“He’s everything,” Blaine tells her.

She frowns, “You love him.”

His cheeks grow warmer. For a moment he’s just another boy talking about his lovely boyfriend, “I do,” he says, “And he loves me, too.” He touches his fingers to his chest, to where his necklace should be.

Her eyes follow the movement, if she notices its absence she doesn’t say anything. “But the boy from your memories…?”

“I changed them,” Blaine tells her, and they fall into silence once again. Heaviness returning like it was never truly gone. “Isabelle…” he says, “I’m going to have to change yours, too.” He looks up to find her looking miserable, but resigned, “I can’t let you know all of this.”

She nods, and slides until she’s kneeling in front of him. After she kisses his forehead, she takes his hands and presses his fingertips to her own forehead. “I always knew you’d be better than me.” She murmurs, and smiles. “I will always love you,” she tells him, her gaze unwavering.

“I’ll give these back to you, when all of this is over, I’ll give it back to you,” he promises before he closes his eyes and lets himself seep into her mind.

-x-

Blaine returns to his bedroom by the break of dawn. He can hear the guard pounding on his door when he turns into the corridor, and he sighs, exhausted as he is, that he forgot about having to deal with it.

“Alright, buddy,” he says, “Stand back so we can kick the door down! The creep locked it with magic,” he says.

“Finally!” the man says from the inside, “Just get me out of here.”

Blaine rolls his eyes, before he opens the door and doesn’t give enough time for the guy to recognize him, before he’s kicked him back into unconsciousness. He erases the memories, and drags him back outside, positioning him in a way that looks like he just fell asleep.

Once he’s closed and locked the door, he braces himself against the wall, a little dizzy. His bones ache from exhaustion, his stomach is trying to eat itself and his brain feels swollen and empty at the same time, the way it only feels like when he goes overboard with his use of complex magic.

He stumbles his way to the bed and lets himself collapse on it.

-x-

He doesn’t leave again for two days. The less magic he uses the better, because he’d really rather not have to modify any more of Isabelle’s memories. Instead, he stays inside and works on the perfect plan for breaking into the castle. He draws maps and he writes it down – every single detail. He spends his time hunched over a desk and doesn’t stop for a moment. He works even as he eats the sparse meals a guard brings him once a day.

He only looks away as he marks the final period on the last page and can’t do anything except hope it works.

He waits until the dead of night to finally leave again.

He hurries down the corridors and staircases and he finds the dungeons. He doesn’t stop by Isabelle’s cell – he tiptoes right past it, into the empty abandoned sewers and he climbs down into the system. Wrapping a cloth around his mouth and nose he finally gives into the sprint his body’s been aching for. He runs for miles until he finds the opening he needs – the opening not even the Head Guard knows about because no one will ever know this castle like Blaine does.

He climbs over the frail, rusty ladder encrusted in the wall and grunts as he pushes the lid a crack open.

The street is dead empty and completely silent as he peers to check if it’s safe. He slides the lid completely open and, with a groan, hoists himself up and puts the sewer lid back down, quickly adopting the posture of a patrolling guard. Slowly and steadily he makes his way through the streets, farther and farther out of the center and into the abandoned, decadent suburbia. He grins as he spots the abandoned warehouse and can feel himself growing happier and warmer as he steps inside, completely and utterly in touch with his own magic. He whistles, and waits for the inevitable moment Jeff will see the uniform and shoot him without a second glance.

When it comes Blaine shields himself easily, “Jeff, it’s Blaine.”

Jeff hesitates pulling the trigger a second time, “What?”

Blaine takes the hat off and steps closer with his hands up.

“Blaine?!” he gasps, “Oh my god! We thought you wer-“

“I’m okay.” Blaine tells him. And then, because nothing can be left to chance he asks, “What did I do the first day I ate a meal here?”

Jeff seems a little taken aback, but his eyes widen and he remembers protocol. He clears his throat, “You gagged because you’d never tasted something so foul.” He frowns, “What did I call you for a month after that?”

“Spoiled brat.”

“Yeah.” Jeff smiles and launches himself at Blaine with a tight hug. Blaine relaxes into it and hugs back.

“Is Wes here?” he asks, as soon as the nervousness and urgency creep back into his body and he pulls back, “I can’t waste any time.”

“No- no! He’s with your cell! He left as soon as we realized you’d been arrested, they’re probably planning some rescue mission or something, I-”

“They’re not,” Blaine says. At least he hopes they’re not. “It’s against protocol. Anyway.” He takes the long stack of papers from inside his jacket and hands them to Jeff, “I can’t be long – I have to go back, they can’t know I’m not really captive, but I need you to make sure Will and the rest of them get this. Don’t read it, please. No one stationed in Dalton can read it, because if they’re captured it’ll ruin everything, but please, get this there. NOW.”

“Oh… Okay…”

“Come on, I’ll open a portal for you outside.”

“What? I can’t- my post.” Blaine shakes his head and pushes him aside before he puts his head inside the opening and calls as loud as he can for Nick, David, Trent, any name he can remember.

Trent’s the first one there and he gapes at the sight of Blaine. Blaine doesn’t bother explaining before he says, “You need to cover for Jeff, starting now. Can you do that?”

“I – yeah. Of course.”

“Okay. Goodbye.” He says before he slams the trapdoor closed, and shuffles to his feet, grabbing Jeff’s elbow and drags him outside. He makes sure Jeff’s hands are tight around the papers, and he holds his shoulders fiercely, “Give it to Will, or Santana, or Quinn.”

“Oh-okay.”

“Good.” Blaine hugs him fast. “Have a nice trip,” he says, just before the other boy is engulfed in bright golden light and disappears.

Blaine looks around himself to make sure no one was watching before he takes off, back to the castle. He’s less careful, but the streets really are empty. There aren’t even half the guards that usually patrol the city, and Blaine wonders if his father is already dispatching troops to the riot sites.

He slides easily back into the sewer system and closes the lid carefully behind himself. With the relief of half a job well done, the stench and the feeling of splashing through dirty water doesn’t hit him as much and, as it usually happens, he’s climbing back out after what feels like half the time it took the first time.

He pauses for just enough time to get his breath back, and drive the edge off his movements. He stops by Isabelle’s cell and makes sure she’s asleep, before he continues, a lot more carefully, through the castle.

He’s crossing the empty kitchens when he hears it.

A painful moan and a sobbed gasp. He stops in his tracks.

Slowly, he turns around, hand already making its way to his holster. He squints, but finds the kitchen completely empty.

Another gasp – louder. He spins towards the sound.

“Hello…?”

A whimper and the sound of a hand slapping over skin. He finds himself staring at the cupboard under the sink. He takes his gun out as he approaches slowly, as silently as he can. He curls a finger over the handler on the door and counts to three before he pulls it open.

There’s a startled, terrified yelp and scrambling, but Blaine catches an elbow and pulls the person out. As soon as the feeble moonlight coming through the windows hits her face, it’s like every breath has been knocked out of him.

“Marley?!” he gasps.

“Please, please, plea-” Her face is covered in tears as she gapes up at him. She stops, as recognition dawns slowly on her face. “B-Blaine?!”

Relief, love, shock, joy pour over him in a waterfall of emotion. He pulls her into his arms and holds her tight against himself. She clings back, her body rocking with violent sobs, and her nails digging into his flesh.

“Blaine, Blaine… Oh, Blaine!” she gets out between cries.

“Hi… Hi!” he breathes into the crook of her neck.

“I thought you were _dead_.” A hand takes the back of his head and pulls him even closer, “I thought y-you died that night…!” Her voice is so wrecked with tears he can barely make out her words. As she mumbles nonsense, he can’t do anything except shake his head and let her hold onto him.

He pulls her into his lap and she folds into his body at once. Silence has returned to the kitchen, when suddenly she gasps in unmistakable agony, her body seizing up, and her hands gripping painfully at his arms.

“Marley..? Marley?! What’s wrong?!”

She’s holding her pain in silence, pressing her lips together and shaking from the effort, and it’s not until she twists further into him that he feels her stomach pressing against his, taut and round.

“You’re pregnant?!” he gasps and she barely even bothers to nod, still clenching herself together. “You’re preg- oh my, oh fuck, you’re- Oh, you’re in labor, you’re in labor, oh my-fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…!”

“Blaine-oh, oh, this hu-u-urts – I need- oh – private, Blaine- somewhere– I’m… I’m…” She deflates visibly as the contraction finally draws to a close. She heaves. Her grip on him loosens. She drops her forehead to his shoulder and takes shuddering breaths, “Oh god, Blaine, I’m so scared…”


	20. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: minor character death. graphic descriptions of blood.

Kurt watches as Blaine and Rachel disappear in a flash of bright light. His chest feels a little tight, and he wraps his hand around the two soul necklaces hanging from his neck and grips them until the small pendants are too warm and digging into his flesh.

He sits on the steps of the front porch, gazing at the place they’d been standing on just a few moments ago, and tries not to feel overwhelmed at the possibilities of what could happen to them in Dalton. The two of them are quite easily the most important people in this house, to Kurt, and now they’re both going to the epicenter of a shit storm. What if he loses one of them? What if he loses both?

But mostly, what if he loses Blaine?

It’s strange, having to let him go once they finally got their act together. One would think that after hearing the words “I’ll go with you” every single piece of the puzzle would slot into place and things would be fast, easy: picture perfect. Instead, he’s left staring at an empty space and the possibility of those words never coming true. Now, he finally understands why Blaine had locked him up in a room once in the midst of panic, irrationality and an overwhelming need to protect. If he could, he’d do the same. If he could go back in time, he’d beg Blaine to stay. Would he have stayed?

He probably would have.

Kurt shakes his head and takes a deep breath. This is bigger than them. Than either of them or their love, and even if it wasn’t – this is important to Blaine. Kurt will respect that, the same way Blaine apologized and respected when Kurt told him never to do it again. But it still pains him to just have to wait for the day he can see him again, _praying_ that it will come.

He’s interrupted in his thoughts when Sebastian comes and says, “So, we got the green light and we’re thinking of leaving today as well.”

Kurt nods with a bitter laugh, “Works terrific for me.” Anything to keep his mind of it.

Sebastian gives him a smile, “We can leave by nightfall, yeah? We shouldn’t risk having you in public in the daytime.”

“Yeah. I’ll go get my stuff ready.” Kurt says but doesn’t move.

Sebastian eyes him for a moment, still smiling that sympathetic smile that borders on pity. “Cool,” he bends low to squeeze Kurt’s shoulder fleetingly, “He’ll be fine, Kurt. He’s… something else. He’ll be fine,” he mutters before leaving back into the house. Kurt stares after him and wonders where the jerk he’d met a month or so ago is.

With a deep breath and one last glance at the spot Blaine had disappeared from, he stands and goes to get his things ready.

In the living room he passes by Santana and Sam – they seem to be discussing something with great intensity, and when he crosses the room she looks right at him. There’s contempt there, and Kurt feels a chill running down his back. Once he closes his bedroom door behind himself he starts counting the minutes until she comes inside and starts berating him about how much it’s his fault that Blaine’s risking his life in Dalton right now. That’s why he’s so surprised when it’s actually Sam who knocks briefly and pushes the door open.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” his usual jovial smile isn’t there, and the kind glint in his eyes is significantly muted. It makes Kurt want to say no. Sam has always been nice to him – Sam is always nice to everyone. It’s scary to think how wrong one must be that Sam isn’t nice to them anymore.

“Huh, yeah, sure.”

“So, Blaine told us. About leaving with you.”

“Oh.” Kurt gasps. So, it’s not about Dalton. It’s not about placing blame.

“Are you really letting him do that?” Sam draws his eyebrows together and clenches his jaw. He looks the most disapproving Kurt’s ever seen him.

“I… of course,” Kurt frowns. He realizes Sam’s here to fight him on it. Of course – he should’ve known at least one of them would. Kurt can already feel his walls coming up. As if he didn’t have enough on his mind, now he has to fight about who deserves to keep Blaine the most. As if the choice wasn’t Blaine’s. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s what he wants.”

“Yeah, of course that’s what he wants – he loves you. But it’s not what he needs.”

“Yes, it is,” Kurt can feel himself shaking a little. The idea that he has to explain himself and his personal life to anyone is makes his fists clench. No matter how much of a friend that person was supposed to be. “He needs a fair shot at being happy – at being who he is, without having to meet expectations, witho-”

“And that’s what he’s going to get there? With you?”

“Yes!”

“What’s he going to do there Kurt? Stay home and wait for you to come back from your big job?! Spend years trying to catch up to a culture he’s not familiar with just so he can be with you? So he can be _only_ with you?”

“He’ll – I- We’ll figure something out!” Kurt gasps, wanting nothing more than to push Sam out of the bedroom. “There are thousands of possibilities! And he’s n-”

“We’ll figure something out?” Sam blanches, “That’s your plan? _We’ll figure something out?_ Kurt, he’ll be going through what you went through these few months, only he’s-”

“ _Yes_ , and I’m fine.”

“Fuck you, Kurt. You’re not _fine_. You locked yourself up in this room for weeks. And the only reason you even got out of here was because he promised he would find you a way for you to go back home. Where would you be if he hadn’t promised that?” Sam runs a nervous, stressed hand over his hair and lets out a deep, ragged breath. “You’re asking him to give up _everything_ he knows for you.”

“I’m not! I didn’t ask! He said he wanted this!” Kurt can feel ice-cold walls locking up entirely. “And I offered to stay. I really-”

“Oh, yes! I’m _sure_ you did! I’m sure you offered real nice and pretty, making it feel like it was what you wanted and not some big sacrifice you were willing to make just for him. I’m sure you tried really hard to get him to agree with it, Kurt. I’m sure you did.”

“You don’t know anything about me or-”

“I know _everything_ about Blaine.” Sam growls, “You may have been there for him over the last months, but I’ve been his shoulder to cry on for _years_. So, I know he would do anything for the people he loves. I know he would rather die than feel like he’s hurting _any_ of us. And I know that’s exactly what he’s going to feel when he leaves and realizes that he left me behind, that he left Santana, that he left Rachel, Isabelle, Marley, Milly…? That he left a whole kingdom that needed his help to get back on its feet. And when he realizes that, then you’re going to be all he’s got. And I’m sure you love him – I’m sure you love him a lot, Kurt. But that’s not enough. He drowns himself in guilt – that’s what he does -, and loving you, and you loving him, that’s not going to be enough to stop it. You know what he’s been through, I know you do. And I can’t believe you can be selfish enough to let him put himself through even more pain just so you can be together where _you_ want to be.”

The word selfish feels like a slap in the face and it’s all Kurt can take before he’s clenching his own jaw and refusing to speak another word that isn’t, “Out.”

Sam goes, but not before he shoots him another disapproving glare.

Kurt is left shaking with rage and something else he can’t quite identify.

-x-

They’re going to Creania first, and then going farther up north, and then deep south, and after deep west, back to north, and finally east. They’ll be hitting up the towns and cities during the night, and taking the days to sleep in deserted woods, so Sebastian doesn’t waste his energy hopping back an forth between their targets and the Headquarters. All in all, it’ll take them five days, before they come back and start pouring over details of breaking into the castle, knowing that somewhere the rest of it is being taken care of.

They leave after dinner, sky already a deep, dull black without any stars or moon. They arrive in the middle of some woods, Sebastian clearly nervous about it, because apparently he’s never been to Creania and has no idea where he should be aiming for. It’s quite dangerous opening a portal to somewhere one can’t envision properly in their head, he tells them. One could end up stranded in the middle of a wall, or impaled on a lamppost.

Elliot gives him a fond, amused look and says, “Well, we didn’t,” before he takes Sebastian’s hand and starts guiding the group down the slope of the woods.

“We want to find Boris’ pub,” Rory pipes up from where he’s looking at the notes he’d been taking during their planning, as they finally reach the outskirts of a city. He’ll be the one staying behind in Creania.

Sebastian glares at him and snatches the papers from his hand, “Are you insane? The information is supposed to be in your head!” The papers burst into flame and Sebastian drops them unceremoniously on the cobble-stoned pavement. Rory looks petrified.

Ryder ruffles Rory’s hair with a good-natured smile. “No harm, no foul,” he whispers, and Rory perks up somewhat.

Sebastian is already guiding them through streets and alleyways, having apparently memorized the city’s map. There aren’t many people in the streets, but the ones that do cross their path don’t give them a second glance and certainly don’t seem to think Kurt is anyone special, so the way to the pub is remarkably uneventful. In fact, it’s slightly anti-climatic.

There are loud voices coming from the pub – for the first time it actually feels like a city, like a place where people _live_. Elliot opens the door without a second’s hesitation and the six of them are forced to follow him inside just as swiftly.

It’s full to the brim – filled with loud voices and drunken laughter and a certain atmosphere Kurt had never experienced, not even back home, where he’d never had the opportunity to go out at night.

Elliot orders a drink for each of them and, as Kurt accepts his, he finds that his hands are shaking. He clenches his jaw as he follows Sebastian’s lead. He’s walking over to a table with enough chairs for them, and they all follow his lead and sit down. Sebastian sips his drink as he dives right into observing the pub around them. It’s been at least an hour before he smirks, stands up and walks over to a pair of men sitting at the middle of the bar, nursing drinks but not drinking them, and looking around themselves more than talking.

Sebastian knocks them out with two swift punches and drives a syringe with sleeping serum into each of their necks. They’re unconscious and sprawled on the floor, before the bartender has had the chance to realize something’s happening. He hops on the bar and stands tall looking over the whole pub. Silence takes over.

“Any other guards around?” he asks, “Cuz it’s totally cool if there are, you can listen, too, but I live to make strong impressions.”

No one speaks. The bartender looks absolutely confused about what he should be doing.

“Well, now that I’ve got your attention, I got a friend that would like to say a few things.” He beckons Kurt over, “My prince?”

Kurt glares and then stops himself from hesitating or showing any signs of nervousness. He climbs carefully onto the bar, to stand next to Sebastian. “Hi,” he says, heart thumping a little too hard against his chest as dozens of eyes lock on him, only the fact that this has been practiced to exhaustion makes him able to go on, “My name is Kurt, and eighteen years ago my father, King Richard was killed, while my mother, Queen Elizabeth, barely escaped the same fate. She was pregnant with me when she escaped her assassins. I am your Crown Prince and I am here to help you regain control of your lives and your home.”

A completely charged energy fills the room.

“In two weeks, John Anderson will be celebrating his son’s birthday,” Sebastian says, his teasing, cocky tone replaced by cold anger, “He’ll be throwing a celebration so big he’s already started hiring extra staff for the castle. Meanwhile, every day, people around the kingdom starve to death. Meanwhile, his guards have the freedom to shoot anyone they might perceive as a threat to a regime – even if it’s just a child. Meanwhile, concentration camps to make slaves out of citizens are built almost as fast as they’re destroyed by the few who have the means to stand up to them. _Meanwhile_ , people are murdered in cold blood too often.”

“I understand that you feel powerless and scared.” Kurt tells them, forcing himself to meet eyes, “I understand that there are families to protect and children to think of. But I’m here to fight for your freedom, and I would be honored to have you by my side.”

“Are we really supposed to sit idly by while that man makes a mockery of our suffering?” Sebastian scoffs, “For eighteen years he’s sat in that throne, he’s desecrated all that is holy to our culture and home. He’s _murdered_ us. No more!”

“Please, stand with us, two weeks from now. Show them that we are in no partying mood. That we do not celebrate the lives of those who oppress us, but we scream in rage at the deaths of those we love.”

It’s a long night, where they sit surrounded with people asking them this and that, trying to give them as many answers without ruining a single thing. It’s literally like trying to make an omelet without eggs, but somehow they manage. Kurt can feel it – these people are angry and more alive than ever, they want to fight back. They’ve been waiting for this day.

And as they go on to the next city, it’s the same. Once the words are out, once they’ve seen Kurt and Kurt’s let them look into his eyes, they’re alight. Some breathe with relief, some shake with anticipation, some can’t stop crying. Even tainted with the guilt of leaving these people behind, Kurt’s life had never felt more meaningful. His mind, and even his body, might not know what to do with the significance that these people put on his shoulders, but for each smile or happy tear, the weight gets a little easier to bear – not lighter, but still easier.

It’s even pretty good sharing this time with Sebastian and the others. Although, maybe it’s the fact that Elliot’s there and pretty much a master at keeping Sebastian’s obnoxiousness at a tolerable level.

Ryder stays in the second city, and Spencer’s set to stay on the third, happily talking about getting to sleep on a proper bed. “I mean, reconnecting with nature is cool and all, but I do not appreciate sleeping on rocks and twigs.”

“Amen,” Kurt mumbles, rubbing a sore spot on his back, as he shoves the tent back into its bag.

It’s late afternoon and they might as well get to walking if they want to get to their new target by nightfall.

Elliot and Sebastian are goofing off more than taking down their own tents (why they bother setting up two tents is completely beyond Kurt, because it’s not hard to guess they only use one), and Kurt’s about to playfully scold them for it when it happens.

There’s a stab of burning pain on his chest – over just as soon and sudden as it started. He gasps and clutches at the burned skin, only to realize it was Blaine’s soul necklace that caused it when it happens again right in the palm of his hand.

Sebastian notices as he yanks the chain to inspect the pendant, the diamond shining a little brighter than usual, “What’s wrong, Kurt?”

“The-the necklace burnt me.” He frowns, holding it out for Sebastian to see, “It – like a flash of-of – I… I don’t understand.”

There’s a moment when Sebastian freezes. He looks between Kurt and the necklace and his eyes are wary. Another flash of burning heat and Kurt drops it and cradles his hurt hand to his chest.

“What does this mean?” He whispers, yanking his eyes off the pendant, as it lies amidst the dirt and the broken twigs, and finding Sebastian’s eyes. When he doesn’t reply, he repeats, panic raising his voice and giving it a chilly authority, “ _What does it mean_?!”

“I…,” they look down and see it happening again – the rose burns hot white for a second, and the dry leaves around it smoke and sizzle. Sebastian presses his lips into a line, looking scared, and it only serves to worsen Kurt’s nerves.

Possibly sensing the imminent explosion, Elliott finally explains. “If you’re wearing someone’s soul necklace it’ll get warm when the person is in danger,” he says, clearly steeling himself to remain calm.

“It didn’t just get warm. It burnt me.” Kurt gets out through gritted teeth. Why can’t they just help him understand? He shoves his shirt aside and shows them where his skin is still bright red.

“Well…,” Sebastian swallows thickly and glances at Elliot with a pained expression before he continues, “the temperature will increase with the level of danger, but, huh, I wouldn’t – I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Why is that?”

“Well,” Sebastian picks it back up, offering it back to Kurt, “For one, it’s stopped. And it means they were quick flashes of danger, and I guess those might mean gunshots.”

“He was shot?!”

“No,” Elliot hastens to soothe him, his hand wrapping around Kurt’s. The pendant still feels too hot in his hand, but it might be just his imagination, “He was shot at. Maybe. But obviously none of the bullets hit.”

“The thing is, if he dies, the diamond will crack and become dull,” Sebastian tells him, clearly forcing himself to do so with a neutral expression, “It didn’t happen and, - can I touch it?” Kurt opens his hand and lets him pick it up for inspection, “and it’s not even hot anymore. I mean, it’s kind of warm, yes. But all of our necklaces would be warm if we gave them to someone else. Here,” he takes his own off – Kurt had never even noticed its existence – and hands it over to Elliot, who accepts it and waits for a moment, before nodding.

“It’s getting warm, yeah,” he gives Kurt a tiny little smile as he holds it out for Kurt to feel.

“He’s about as in danger as we are – which really, I know isn’t much of a comfort, but if anyone can take care of themselves, it’s him.”

“Come on, Kurt,” Elliot tells him gently, “Let’s wrap this up and get moving.”

In the end, Kurt just watches as the rest of them make easy work of packing whatever’s left up, and then he follows them mindlessly through the woods, toward the new city. All the while, the only thing he bothers paying attention to is the small red rose, warm against his chest. He realizes that from the minute Blaine had given it to him, it’d been this very temperature. It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.

Did Blaine give him the necklace so he would know? So he would be somewhat updated?

Kurt can’t decide if he prefers it this way, or complete ignorance. Hell, he already knew Blaine had gone somewhere dangerous, and now he just had constant, unwavering confirmation of it, and absolutely no way to find out anything past _he’s in Dalton and he was shot at_.

So, that night, Kurt’s not truly capable of focusing on his own task. It’s somewhat okay, Sebastian easily picks up his slack and, ultimately, the people are just excited to have someone telling them there’s hope, no matter how pale or sick with worry he may look.

He wants to ask to go back to the Headquarters, to see if there are any news – to see if maybe someone could go down to Dalton and ask if they knew what was happening, and if it really was okay. But he knows that if he does, they’re just going to patronize him again and tell him he shouldn’t worry because Blaine is such a talented little wizard.

When he does ask, they say exactly that. He wants to scream in their faces.

What do they know about Blaine?! They’ve never seen him gasping for air and coughing up blood with a bullet in his lung. They’ve never seen him ready to give up his own life if only for the chance that Kurt should live. They’ve never heard him say the words, “I’m replaceable.”

He can’t handle not knowing, and when it’s barely past midnight and he feels the heat against his chest grow bigger, he knows better than to take no for an answer. It doesn’t burn him, but it’s not something he can ignore anymore and he yanks Sebastian’s hand, grads him outside and tells him, “Take me to the Inn. Now.”

Sebastian fights him on it, of course. He goes for every argument he’s got. When his opinion that Blaine can more than take care of himself doesn’t work, he moves on to “we’ve got a job to do here,” and finally the spectacular “Blaine wouldn’t want this. Blaine would want you to do what you were supposed to do.”

The slap Kurt lands on Sebastian’s face doesn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he needed it to, but he doesn’t falter.

“Take me to the Inn,” he repeats in a growl, through gritted teeth.

Sebastian gapes at him, cradling his red cheek before he clenches his own jaw and says, “We finish this tonight. Then we can go.”

Kurt stares after him for a moment before he squares his shoulders and follows him back to the crowd, telling himself he’s only got a few more hours of this until he can get to the headquarters and hopefully know what the hell is going on.

It’s the longest five hours of his life – all sorts of scenarios running through his head – is Rachel also in danger? Did they realize who she was and what she was there to do? Was Blaine putting himself on the line so they wouldn’t hurt her?

When they leave the pub, wishing Spencer good luck, Kurt doesn’t wait until the boy has turned the corner before he’s taking Sebastian’s wrist in his hand and saying, “Let’s go.”

His heart is in his mouth as he crosses the portal and finds himself looking at the Inn, lights still on even in the dead of night. He doesn’t wait for the rest of them before he sprints to the front door and yanks it open. He finds Joe nursing a cup of tea at the dining table, everywhere else empty.

He almost sags with relief but then Joe says, “They’re in the conference room.”

There’s a pained sob trying to get out but Kurt swallows it down and hurries over.

Bursting through the door, the first thing he notices is that Wes from the Dalton cell is in the room. Everyone stops talking, startled by his abrupt entrance and he stares at them for a moment before he catches his words, “What happened?”

Sebastian comes in as well, closing the door behind himself and walking around Kurt towards a seat of his own. Kurt just stands there waiting for someone to gather up some sort of guts and just tell him already.

“Blaine’s been captured,” Wes says, his voice carefully measured and an imitation of professionalism. Kurt’s heart all but stops, “We have reason to believe he’s been taken to the castle for interrogation.”

“I- what – how?”

“We have no idea,” Wes shakes his head. He sounds tired and a little bit angry, too. “He wasn’t with anyone. I heard someone talking about a man whistling the Coronation Song. The city’s been completely overrun with people talking about you and some people have gotten… fresh. I think Blaine might have covered for someone, or something of the sort. He spent a lot of time on the streets just… I don’t know. Watching, I guess.”

Kurt tries not to so much as blink, “Okay. So what are we going to do about a rescue mission?”

There’s a long, heavy silence. Everyone looks at him with so much pity in their eyes Kurt just wants to slap, and punch and kick each one of them.

Finally, it’s Santana who speaks. It’s all but a whisper – just as much of a damn of emotion waiting to explode as Kurt is feeling himself, “We’re not,” she says, “There’ll be no rescue mission.”

“What?”

“It’s against protocol, Kurt,” Will says. His tone is kind, but Kurt hates it like he’s never hated anything in his whole life. “You know that.”

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t know that. Because that’s stupid. It’s completely ridiculous. Where I come from we don’t just give up on people! We go back for them, and we don’t - we don’t leave people behind!” he’s grasping at straws and he knows it.

“Kurt, Blaine said it himself plenty of times,” Will reasons, “Rescue missions are just never worth it.”

Around the room everyone keeps their eyes on the table, faces pale, and lips pressed into thin lines. Sam has a pool of tears gathering on the table. Santana is holding herself together with arms crossed tightly across her chest, keeping it from heaving and collapsing.

Mike catches Kurt’s eye and clenches his jaw with a small imperceptible nod. “I’m sorry,” it says, “I feel you,” it says. It’s hardly anything close to a consolation.

“ _Worth it_?! Not worth it?!” Kurt snarls, angry tears spilling everywhere. He wants to spit on Will’s face, “Not worth it?!”

“I – I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, Ku-“

“I don’t care what you meant,” he’s shaking from head to toe, “You’re a coward.”

“Kurt, please. Be reasonable,” Will says softly, and Santana actually laughs from her seat. Loud and acid.

He wipes angrily at his tears and tries to look somewhat reasonable, “So, what’s the plan then? Let them kill him and _then_ take over the castle as planned. I think it’s hilarious that you think you can do it without him, anyway.”

“We don’t know if they’re going to kill him.”

“Oh, right. They could just want to torture him for information. That’s totally cool, too.”

“Maybe we could move up the plan?” Tina offers, shy and hesitant, “I get it that we can’t go in just for him, but we were gonna go in anyway, and maybe we could just try to do it earlier. I mean, the rumors for the riots have been spread…”

“And Anderson is dispatching troops over already. We’ve noticed a decrease in security around Dalton,” Wes tells them.

“It’s still risky. It might not be enough of a security fault, and we have no risk-free way of contacting Rachel so she knows everything’s moving up, and we desperately need the time to work out the kinks in the plan, and go report to Carmen so she’ll give us the men, and we wouldn’t be wiping out nearly half the people we would during the gala. And that’s all assuming we’re continuing. Guys, he’s being interrogated by Isabelle – she doesn’t need torture to know what people don’t want to tell her. We could very well just have lost everything, and we need to-”

Kurt can’t do this. He just can’t. He turns on his heel, takes the steps two at a time and sprints to Blaine’s bedroom.

Slamming the door behind himself, he presses his back against it and lets himself crumple to the floor. Cat’s lying on the foot of the bed and stirs awake at the commotion. She lifts up her little head and looks at Kurt for a moment, before she stretches, hops off the bed and walks slowly up to him. With a soft purr, she rubs her body against his leg and finally settles into a ball of fur in his lap.

He keeps himself from holding her so tight it might hurt her. Instead, he moves his trembling hand up and down her body, her smooth fur only barely calming him, while his other hand clutches Blaine’s soul necklace, begging the heat to just go away already.

He’s eight years old again. In his bedroom, while his father paces the living room, phone clutched to his ear, voice frustrated time and time again. All he knows is that his mother hasn’t returned when she should have, hours ago. There’s a queasy feeling in his stomach and he knows something’s horribly, horribly wrong. But he’s not supposed to know that – not yet. He’s just supposed to go to his room and play with his toys.

He’s fifteen again, in a Hospital waiting room – his father in surgery while he’s not allowed to do anything but wait. Not allowed to be relieved, not allowed to be distraught – just to agonize over the wait.

He’s barely eighteen again, in yet another Hospital waiting room. Watching the doctor come over. Looking at the dark stains of sweat on his scrubs, looking at the way his hair messes up completely as he runs a tired hand through it. Looking at the way the corners of his lips turn down. Looking at the way his mouth spells out words he’s never wanted to hear less. Finally allowed to feel something. To feel like the entire world imploded on him. To feel like he’ll never smile again.

Right now Kurt feels as if he’s been shoved into one of those horrible rooms, where he can’t even cry, because he just doesn’t _know_. And trying not to think of the third – of finally getting know, and losing it all.

At some point exhaustion takes over him and he falls asleep, right there, curled up on Blaine’s bedroom floor, Cat snuggled tight against his stomach, his fingers buried in her fur.

When he wakes, bright midday light shining through the window, Cat has disappeared from his hold. She’s sitting quietly in a corner, looking ahead of herself but not moving otherwise. He pushes himself to his feet, everything in him hurting, and walks over to her.

“If I tell you I love him, will he know it?” he murmurs. She looks up at him, blinks twice and lets his hand scratch the top of her head.

He picks her up into his arms and she goes easily. He climbs into bed and settles her over his chest. He keeps a hand on her body so he can feel her heartbeat and takes a deep breath. As long as it exists, Blaine is still alive. As long at the necklace rests hot against his skin, Blaine’s still alive. He stays there for the rest of the day.

Sebastian comes to tell him they should get back to their job and Kurt doesn’t even bother answering. Apparently this time, the other boy knows better than to argue, and leaves him to it.

In the pitch-black night, he manages sleep once more, but only when lulled into it by Cat’s slow, easy breaths.

The next day is just as listless. He picks up Blaine’s favorite book, still on his bedside table from when Kurt had been reading it, and he cracks it open, Cat tucked gently between his legs. Nobody comes to bother him today, but Kurt does notice the atmosphere of slight panic that’s taking over the house. Panic that Kurt’s lost it, that Kurt’s never going to leave this room again, panic that everything’s completely lost.

He finishes the book with a bitter smile and considers they might not be wrong.

In the middle of the night, though, he’s jolted awake when Cat suddenly hops off his stomach, where she’d been quietly resting, and starts jogging around the room. Kurt frowns, hand flying to the necklace and finding absolutely no change in its temperature.

He eyes her warily. If he didn’t know any better he might even think she was just playing or trying to catch some bug, as she hops around the place easily. She plays with his feet, and then plays with his hands. She looks… happy?

He doesn’t call anyone. Instead he watches it. At some point the pendant in his hand goes cool, and it clicks.

He jumps off the bed, sprints to the first door he can find and yanks it open. It’s Santana’s.

“He did it on purpose.”

Santana had been sitting at her wide-open window, her bedroom freezing, “What?” she frowns, sliding off the windowsill.

“He got caught on purpose,” Kurt tells her, “Cat’s not freaking out. If he’d been caught against his will, she’d be freaking out, right? Cat’s been the calmest I’ve ever seen her.”

“I – huh – I…” she gapes at him, completely incapable of stringing two words together, before she suddenly takes off running, banging on every door on her way upstairs, probably to Will’s bedroom.

Kurt stands there staring after her, the dread that had filled him for the last two days and half suddenly lifting and letting him breathe properly again.

People start poking heads out of the bedrooms and Kurt breathes, “Blaine did it on purpose. He got caught on purpose! I’m sure of it!”

“What – how would you know that?” Puck frowns at him.

“Because, because, _because_ – he’s in the place of his nightmares, and yet his necklace is barely hot,” he says, glancing half-apologetically at Sebastian who’s appearing at the far end of the corridor, lips quirking into a smile, “and – and – and Cat’s almost as calm as I’ve ever seen her, and he’s just… he’s in control of the whole thing, I know he is. I just do.”

“Kurt-”

“He told me! He told me to keep an eye on Cat and to take care of his necklace! He wanted me to notice – he wanted me to know! He’s okay! He’s fine!” He wants to laugh, as he finally starts toward where Santana had gone. He meets them in the living room, halfway, as Will’s already hurrying down the stairs, wrapping a thick robe around himself.

“He’s got a plan!” Kurt says, “I know it! He’s got it! He knows what he’s doing!”

Will opens his mouth to say something when a sudden flash of bright golden light outside catches all of their attentions – bursting through windows, burning against the pitch black of the night.

They freeze for a moment, before Kurt spurs into action and yanks the door open. Jeff, the tall blonde guy from Dalton is standing there, looking remarkable startled and disoriented, holding a thick stack of papers.

“I… I… Blaine asked me to give this to Will,” he mutters, taken aback by all the people suddenly looking at him.

-x-

With every step he takes, Blaine prays a little harder that the corridors keep coming up empty. Marley is quiet as he carries her, clutching tightly with her arms wrapped around his neck. He checks every corner before he turns it, and tries not to think about what would happen if someone did cross their path. Once he’s close enough to his bedroom, he lays her down carefully and kisses her temple.

Like the other night he strikes the guard fast and expertly, and lays him down at the end of the hall. He jogs back to Marley and picks her back up, not missing the way she’s starting to take deep, labored breaths. He barely manages to close his door, enchanting it to be impervious to sound, when she starts screaming and gripping him even tighter. He doesn’t bother letting go even as he lays her down on the bed, he just lets her curl into his body as the pain wrecks her.

When it’s over and her hands go limp against his skin, he helps her into a more comfortable position. Slowly, he sits next to her and guides her to lean on him. Brushing the hair that clings to her forehead, covered in sweat, he tries to smile.

She looks up at him, exhausted and breathless, and tries to return it.

“I…” she starts, voice wrecked, “used to have the biggest crush on you.” Her laughter is practically silent.

“What?”

“I did…” she sighs, “I was in love with you. When they said you’d died, I was so sure I would die too.” She rolls her eyes and affects a little girlish smile. “I regretted never having told you how I felt.” She squeezes his hand and sighs playfully despite the seriousness of the situation. “What I wouldn’t have given to be in this exact same situation, with _your_ child, four years ago.”

He can’t help returning her chuckles. He runs a gentle finger through her cheekbones, “I’m honored.”

“Yeah…” she shrugs, lifting her hand slap his shoulder playfully, “You’re also totally gay, aren’t you?”

He smiles wider, “Yes. I’m so sorry. You’d be my first choice, otherwise.”

“Better be,” she tells him with a teasing glare.

He knows what she’s doing, distracting him from how absolutely broken she seems, from the paleness of her skin, from her bony wrists and her ragged breaths. But he indulges her, because there’s nothing else he can do.

“Did you ever tell Kitty about it?”

She laughs and then coughs. Once she recovers, she smiles a little wicked, “She used to tease me relentlessly actually.”

“Of course she did.”

“Besides, she’d guessed you were gay the first day she met you.” Marley waves a flimsy hand, he catches it in his, and runs his thumb gently over her knuckles.

“Of course she did,” he says again. “ _I_ didn’t know until I was sixteen, but she was much smarter than me, so…”

She gives him a wide smile, and for a moment it’s happy and it lasts.

When her smile fades, though, her eyes turn pleading and a little lost, “Blaine,… did you… did you ever find her?”

His heart feels heavy with lead. His chin trembles and his eyes burn as he nods. Marley looks so happy for moment there, until she realizes he didn’t mean it the way they’d hoped. “Second camp I worked on,” he murmurs, “with the Resistance. I found her name in the records,” he tells her slowly. “She died.”

“Oh.”

He presses his lips together and gives her a sad, little smile, reaching up to wipe away the sudden tears rushing down her cheeks. She cries and he lets her, lying down next to her and burying his fingers in her sweat soaked hair. After a little while, though, she sniffs a little harder and brushes her tears away resolutely pulling herself back together. She turns to look at him, “What about you?” She smiles softly, “Any crushes to tell me about?”

He returns her smile as he nods slowly.

Her eyes go a little wide, “Tell me.”

He lets his free hand rest around his bare neck, “I found my soul mate.”

She beams, “You did?”

“I really did,” he tells her. “I didn’t know it could feel this good, but it does, and I just… I love him.”

“And he loves you,” she trails a fragile hand through his brow.

“Yes,” he nods. “At least he says he does,” he adds with a self-conscious chuckle.

“Of course he does. You’re very easy to love,” she mutters. “He’s not going to have a hard time staying in love you, Blaine.”

“Thank you,” he tells her softly, bending over to kiss her forehead. “I love you so much, Marley.”

“Even though it’s no-Oh!” she gasps, screwing up her face in pain again, clutching her belly and crying out through whimpers and gritted teeth.

He slips his hand into hers at once, and lets her hold on tight. It lasts a lot longer than the previous ones, and he’s pretty sure it’s not supposed to hurt as much as it seems to be hurting. She’s absolutely contorted in pain, a mess of tears and sweat as she sobs through the pain and barely manages to pant, “Make it stop, make it stop!”

“I can’t,” he tells her, hand cradling her head to his chest, “I’m so sorry, I can’t, Marley, I’m so sorry.”

She whimpers as it finally dies down. He cradles her close to himself, and rubs her back soothingly.

“They’re getting closer apart.”

“Yeah…” she nods.

“How long have you been having contractions?”

“I… I don’t know… it started by nightfall.”

Blaine checks his watch. That would be around nine hours. He remembers some of Quinn’s labor, when Beth was born, but Emma had kicked everybody who wasn’t Puck or Mercedes out of the room, and whatever he might know from that night is not nearly enough. He bites his lip and tries not to panic. “It’ll be happening soon, I think,” he tells her, and she merely nods.

For a moment there he thinks she’s fallen asleep in his arms but then her voice comes, small and a little scared, “I know why my dad was taken away.”

Blaine frowns and moves until he’s looking her in the eye.

“His father had blue eyes. He didn’t, but… it was in his blood and they thought… they didn’t take him away. They killed him. It wasn’t a camp, it wasn’t like Kitty.”

“H-how do you know?”

“My mom told me,” she murmurs, her eyes wet with tears again, “When I- when I got pregnant. No one can know. She told them I wasn’t his daughter. They brought us here so they’d keep their eye on me. They… they can’t know.”

“Oh my god, Marley…”

“She knew – she knew what happened the whole time. They would’ve killed me, too, if she hadn’t – if she hadn’t agreed to come work here and bring me here.”

“Marley…!” he breathes.

“I’ve been-, I’ve been wearing baggy clothes and wrapping my stomach, padding everything else up – it helps a little bit, but it’s still… I’ve tried gaining weight and just… hoping people couldn’t tell the difference between fat and baby, but… I’m so scared all the time I just keep throwing up most of what I eat and it didn’t work. And I’m just…”

“Does anyone know?”

“Besides my mom?” she breathes and shakes her head, “I don’t think so. Maybe. Some of the other women… When it got hard to hide, I asked to be transferred to the kitchens. Anyone hardly ever goes there, besides us and some maids, but…” she shakes her head, “If the guards knew I’d be… I’d be dead. So I don’t think they know.”

Blaine pulls her back to himself and holds her close, “Okay, it’ll be alright, it’ll be okay.”

“Blaine… what happens now?” she breathes.

“I’ll think of something, okay? You’re not doing this alone. I’ll think of something.”

She cries into his arms, face burying into the crook of his neck, her grip on him too strong and too frail at the same time. Blaine can feel the energy draining from her body, he can feel her movements becoming slow and shaky. How she’s drenched in sweat, but her skin feels frighteningly cool against his. The way a jumble of gibberish will leave her chapped lips sometimes. The way that when the next contraction comes, she can only clutch a little tighter, not even strong enough to scream beyond several breathless gasps.

 _Cat_ , he thinks, he prays, _forget what I said. Saver her, please, just save her_.

Nothing happens.

Blaine’s heart is tight as he decides that it’s time to do this for real, even if he doesn’t know the first thing about it. His hands shake as he helps her take off her underwear and move to a better position, piling pillows behind her back. He all but freezes as he sees the amount of blood trailing down her legs.

“What is it?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper, her eyes drooping slightly.

He takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head, “Nothing, I…. nothing. I’m just nervous.”

She gives him a halfhearted smile, “Grow up, gay Blaine.”

He returns her chuckles, just as fake, just as pained, and tries not to let his own lightheadedness affect what needs to be done, “I’m not – I’m not sure it’s, hum, dilated enough… I…”

“Mom says it’s supposed to be when it’s been a long while of contractions every five minutes,” she explains, her voice a little slurred, and it really scares Blaine.

He nods, “Well, I’m gonna go get some water to, huh, to boil, and…”

She just nods, possibly not catching a single of his words. He stumbles into the bathroom and barely manages to brace himself against the sink. Something’s very wrong. Blaine can feel it.

He bites down on the queasy feeling taking over his body before he picks up a recipient and fills it up with water.

As he waits for it to fill, he steels himself. _I’m really serious._ _Now would be a good time to do your trick again, Cat. Now would be a really good time. Please._

He closes the tap and moves back to the bedroom, as he boils the water, hoping his hands aren’t shaking too much as he kneels down and starts cleaning the blood.

The next hour is spent helping her through contractions, long and close together, and with each one, he can’t help wondering how many more she’ll be able to get through. Between contractions her eyes slip closed and her head hangs a little limp, he keeps jolting her back to consciousness as gently as he can. At some point, it almost feels like there’s no time between contractions, and as she clutches his hand she scrambles to sit a little straighter, groaning loudly through gritted teeth.

“Are you pushing?” he breathes, “Do you feel like you need to push?”

She just nods, keeping her jaw locked tight and her eyes screwed shut. He can feel his heart thundering against his chest as he leaves her side and moves to really, truly help.

There’s so much blood.

 _It’s got to be normal_ , he tells himself, _it’s just gotta be_.

She stops for a moment, gasping for breath. Blaine looks up at her and feels his mouth go dry at how ghostly her face looks. She doesn’t see him staring and he doesn’t say anything. Instead they’re both just waiting for the next pain to come.

It’s barely more than two minutes before she's screaming again, fisting the sheets and practically folding herself in half.

It takes another two of those until Blaine gasps, “I… I can see it… I think- oh my god, I see the head! I see it!” For a moment there he forgets to be scared and he just beams.

She returns it, her eyes a little lost. “I love you, Jake.”

Blaine’s throat goes a little dry as comprehension dawns on his face, and he doesn’t know if his smile is honest or not, “Your doing great, love, you’re doing great.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying very hard…” she murmurs, “but I miss you… I thought you’d be here. I mi-OHHH! GOD!”

“Just keep pushing,” he urges her, hands hovering, unsure what he should be doing. “Just keep pushing! You’re doing well! Yes! I can see more head – you’re doing it, yes!”

“I don’t think I can do it,” she gets out thought gritted teeth, “Oh my god, Blaine, it… OH GOD!”

“You can! You can!”

The contraction fades and she falls back onto the pillows. He reaches for her hand and laces their fingers together, “You’re doing great. You can absolutely do this, Marley. You can.”

She gives him a dazed look and shakes her head in clumsy movements as her face screws up with silent crying.

“Trust me, you can. You’re almost there. I promise, it’ll be over soon. It’ll be alright.”

She just keeps shaking her head, whimpers starting to grow into sobs, until suddenly she’s screaming again, and Blaine forces himself to help the push, hoping to dear god he’s not doing something completely wrong. All the blood makes it very hard to see anything or even get a good grip, but he starts pulling as she pushes, and he has no idea how, but, after two more bouts of pulling and pushing, there’s a head completely out.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he breathes, “The head’s out, Marley. That was the hardest part, it was, you’re gonna do this, you really are! It’s almost over.”

She’s openly sobbing, begging him to make it stop, to get it over with, alternating between calling him Blaine and Jake, eyes clouded over, but he can only pet the insides of her thighs and tell her over and over again that it’ll be over soon, that she can do it.

Getting the shoulders out is terrifying because Blaine keeps thinking he’ll break the little baby’s neck, but he doesn’t and then it only takes a moment until he’s gasping and shaking with a baby girl in his arms.

“Marley… the baby’s here!” he breathes, “Marley… it’s a girl, honey. It’s a perfect baby girl.”

She looks up, her movements slow and absolutely exhausted, just as the baby’s cries fill the room, and Blaine can’t help the tears pouring down his cheeks.

“She’s so perfect…” Marley breathes, and Blaine nods, taking the wet cloth and gently wiping her little face clean.

“Do you want to hold her?”

Marley nods, her tired, frail arms reaching out for her daughter. Blaine lets her go gently, making sure Marley’s got a good hold on her.

“She’s so perfect,” Marley breathes again.

Blaine kisses the top of her head, “As perfect as her strong, brave mother.”

Marley looks up at Blaine, eyes brimming with tears, “Will you take care of her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Promise me, Blaine. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“What are you talking about, you’re gon- Marley?!”

Her eyes are drooping and her grasp on the baby is faltering.

“No.” Blaine runs a desperate hand through her hair and holds her face up, “Stay with me! No, please! Marley! You did it, you can’t- Wake up!”

She mumbles something he doesn’t make out. She tries to open her eyes but it’s clear the effort is too much. Her face is ashen white, and the sheets beneath her are dark red.

“Marley!” he cries, begging her to just come back, “Please! Please!”

“Promise.” She breathes one last time, before her arm falls limply to her side and her head tumbles back against the headboard with a sickening thud.

“ _No_!” he gasps, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” His knees crash hard against the floor but he doesn’t notice, in his haste to grab her and shake her back to life, “No, Marley, please no. Please, don’t die, please, come back, please. Oh my god, Marley just come back! I can’t- you – no, no. Please. NO!” He can’t breathe. “I can help you, I gotta help you, please come back, and I’ll take you away from here, I’ll get you help, - Cat please! – someone who knows what they’re doing, I can try, I can get us there, please, please Cat, please. _Cat_! I’ll get us there, Marley, I will, I swear. Cat can do it, you don’t have to die, you don’t – oh, please, Marley, just come back, I can’t have waited too long, I can’t, I… Please! Come back to me!” Sobs wreck his body as he pulls her back to him, pressing his forehead to her hers and burying his nose in her cold cheek, but she remains just as still, just as dead, “What did I do wrong? What did I do wrong? What did I do? Come back.”

He cries so hard his throat feels like it might tear irreversibly. He grips her hand so tight, there might be bones cracking. It feels as if someone’s ripping his soul into a million tiny little pieces and dousing them in acid. Every inch of him is burning, and it’s never going to let up.

He only barely manages to come back to reality when he remembers there’s another sound besides his crushing pain – another cry. As the baby’s cries mingle with his own, from where she’s slightly crushed between Blaine and Marley’s bodies, Blaine forces himself to pull back and let Marley go.

He takes a few wrecked breaths, not even close to managing something solid and calm, as he takes the small child back in his arms. He produces a knife he’d stolen from the guard on his first night, and cuts the umbilical chord.

“I’m so sorry, baby…” he mumbles through tick tears, “I’m so sorry.”


	21. Plans

_Dear Kurt,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was going to do. It wasn’t my intention to scare or worry you, though I know it’s probably what happened. I hoped you’d understand, though, sooner or later, that I planned for it to happen._

_I don’t know how all of this will play out now that I’m here, so I won’t make any promises. But you need to remember that no one knows this castle like me. I’m in control, I swear. I have every intention of seeing you in two weeks._

_The reason I didn’t tell anyone, was that I was afraid they’d try to make a bigger thing out of this than it could be. And with everything happening in Dalton, this needed to be incredibly secret. If the wrong person got caught, everything would be ruined. If any of you had decided to follow me into this madness, it could destroy everything we’ve been working for._

_The reason I didn’t tell **you** was because I knew you’d ask me not to go. And, when it comes to me, you can have everything._

_I know that’s a fucked up thing to do, though. It’s not how I want live our love, keeping things from you out of fear that you’ll keep me from doing them. But just this once, I felt like I absolutely had to. It’s not an excuse, but I still hope you’ll understand and forgive me._

_I’m so sorry and I love you with all my heart._

_Forever yours,_

_Blaine_

-x-

The relief of understanding Blaine is in that castle of his own choice and volition is short-lived. Barely two hours after Jeff handed the stack of papers to Will, Cat’s easy little jog through the corridors turns frantic, panicky even. Kurt freezes in his spot, where he’d been walking to his bedroom, and watches as she sprints up and down the corridor several times before she stops to a halt and then stays there very, very still.

Kurt approaches slightly, his hand shaking a little as he reaches out to pet her, she screeches and runs to Blaine’s bedroom. He stares after her with dread pooling his stomach. He can feel his knees a little too weak as he follows her. She’s standing in the middle of the bedroom completely still. Her fur isn’t standing up and she’s not growling or making any noise, but there’s still undeniable tension radiating off her. He walks carefully to the bed and sits there watching her. Every once in a while, she’ll move, walking a little bit to one side and then back to the other. It starts happening more and more until she’s never still anymore, she’s just pacing slowly and carefully around the room.

She barely even falters when there’s a knock at the door and Will steps inside, “Hey Kurt,” he says. “This is for you, apparently.”

Kurt looks between the envelope and Will, and takes it wordlessly. Will gives him a fleeting smile before he walks back out. He looks at his name written on its back, in Blaine’s handwriting. With trembling fingers he rips it open and fishes the letter out.

It’s not particularly long. Yet, it still leaves him a little breathless, exhausted and mollified even where he didn’t know he’d been filled with anger.

As a single tear falls on the paper it folds itself into a rose, and Kurt closes his eyes with a shuddering breath. He almost laughs.

Lying down on the bed, he wraps his hand around Blaine’s soul necklace and sets himself up for a long night of watching Cat.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Blaine…?” he mutters, as Cat’s pace picks up slightly.

Somehow he falls asleep, the barely audible sound of Cat’s little paws against the wood lulling him into it. Soon enough, though, he startles awake to the sound of crying. He frowns as he realizes it’s Cat. He never knew cats could sound like that, so broken and desperate. The sounds she’s making are almost human.

For a moment there, Kurt can’t move, but then something in him jolts awake and he scrambles to grab the necklace. He frowns as it’s just as warm as it’s been the whole day and night. His eyes flit between Cat and the necklace. She doesn’t look scared or threatened, she just looks desperately miserable. With a stab to his gut he realizes Blaine’s not in danger, he’s in pain.

-x-

Blaine paces around the room, cradling the little girl to his chest and begging her to just go to sleep. But it’s like she knows her mother’s body is lying cold and dead on a bed barely three feet away and maybe she’s trying to claw her lungs out to numb the pain. It probably doesn’t help that as much as he tries to rock her gently and sing her all the lullabies he knows, his own tears keep falling on her face and she might drown because of them at any moment.

If he could just stop hurting for one second, he swears he’d know what to do.

If he hadn’t spent so much time telling Cat never to leave the Inn even if he panicked, even if he hurt, praying she’d stay put and not do something stupid that would jeopardize everything… If he hadn’t done that she would’ve answered his call now. Wouldn’t she?

He thinks of so many possibilities – so many ways he could’ve saved Marley. You can’t open portals within the Castle’s walls – not even in the gardens. It’s protected and it goes even beyond Isabelle’s magic. But maybe if he’d tried hard enough. Or maybe he could have found a way to get her outside and then open a portal for her. Maybe he could’ve taken her through the sewers. Maybe.

With a desperate breath, he slams his back against the wall and lets himself slide down, pulling his knees up and holding the baby gently between his chest and his legs. Eventually, she’ll tire herself out, right?

Finally, the blessed silence comes as her cries die down and she slumps against his body, her tiny hand grasping at his shirt as her perfect little face relaxes and he lets himself sigh with relief, resting his own head back against the wall. He slips his eyes closed and he listens to both of their breathing for a moment.

As a new volcano of grief erupts inside him, he keeps his cries silent and hopes the sobs wrecking his body are just rocking her into a deeper sleep.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at Marley. Her body is still strewn over the pillows, arms hanging off the bed where Blaine almost pulled her down from it in his despair. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is slightly open, she could be sleeping. But her chest is not moving and she’s pale as a ghost. _As…_ he thinks sadly, _no need for comparisons here. She’s a ghost now._ He clenches his jaw and holds back the next sob.

“I promise,” he murmurs. It’s too late, she won’t hear him anymore, she won’t know he’ll keep her dying wish, but he says it again, louder, stronger. “I promise.”

With that, he carefully stands back up. The baby girl stirs but doesn’t wake up even as he lays her carefully down on the bed, surrounding her with a wall of pillows and covering her with a folded blanket. He kisses her softly with a small smile, before he steels himself.

He gently moves Marley’s body, until she truly looks peacefully asleep. Then, he takes the water and the cloth and starts working on cleaning the blood and sweat off her body. Calmly and lovingly he makes the picture of death seem a little less violent.

Once she’s clean, he takes a clean sheet out of the closet and wraps her body in it, laying a single white rose on her chest.

He cradles her covered head close to his chest for a moment and kisses it twice, wetting the soft white fabric with a tear, “Goodbye,” he mutters and finally turns back to the baby. Miraculously she doesn’t fully wake up as he wipes her whole body clean as well, and he works in peaceful silence.

Once he’s finished he looks out at the bright sun of early afternoon shining through the window and hopes night comes soon. In the meantime he takes a thick, warm blanket and crawls into whatever small space there’s left on the bed, moving pillows away so he can let the little girl snuggle against him, his hand splaying over the side of her body, letting her sleepily clutch his fingers to her chest.

He doesn’t sleep much; gets caught in a limbo between conscious and unconscious. But time moves a little faster, less agonizing, and when she wakes up, the sun is setting.

She doesn’t cry at once, instead she looks up at him and, even in the dim lit room, he can finally see it. The blue of her eyes is bright and clear.

-x-

_Kurt needs to go to Carmen (Will/Sebastian can take him) and ask for at least five hundred men (the more the better, though, of course). Carmen might want assurance that we have a viable way in – show her these. No one else._

_They need to arrive suddenly – I suggest she gather up a group of enchanters so they can open up several portals at the same time. They don’t need to arrive right at the castle (couldn’t, either way, there’s a really tight protection against portals and I’m not sure I can see any way around it), but I think they could circle it._

_They should bring stem dust to counter the protection on the structures of the castle, otherwise the action/attack will be completely futile. If they can, they should have explosives and direct them at the west tower. If they take that out, they’ll take care of most of the castle’s guards, weaponry and security at once._

_It’s important this happens so that Anderson gets the guards mobilized outside. It’ll leave the hallways empty and access to the ceremony will be easier. ~~~~_

_The castle’s emergency protocol is in the documents I sent you, so you can see how vital it is for their arrival to happen suddenly, and once we’re in position ourselves. We shouldn’t risk Anderson being taken into the vault – I don’t think even I could break in there._

-x-

Kurt tries not to show exactly how nervous he is as they wait for Queen Carmen. It’s the exact same room as the time before. Cassandra is watching them from the door, her smirk small and slightly bitter. This time Kurt had known better than to take her handshake.

“Don’t say a word, for the love of god, let me do all the talking,” he mutters to Sebastian.

The other boy gives him an offended glare but shrugs. “Whatever.”

Kurt gives him a pointed look, but that’s the moment the imposing, powerful figure of Queen Carmen comes strutting in, extending a hand towards Kurt.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kurt.”

He takes it and returns her firm grip, “Likewise, Your Highness.”

“Carmen,” she tells him with the tiniest hint of a smile and he can only give her a fleeting one, “I see your entourage has changed.”

“Blaine is, huh, otherwise occupied,” he doesn’t know if he should say it – if it’ll look good or not, so he tries for positive interpretation of current events. “He’s infiltrated the castle, actually. He’s feeding us information so that we can have the most informed strategy we can.”

She looks impressed and he barely keeps himself from sighing with relief.

“This is Sebastian,” he says instead, “He’s a wizard. He’s very talented. He’s been keeping us afloat since Blaine left.”

“Flatterer,” Sebastian pretends to be embarrassed and Kurt shoots him a glare. “Your highness,” he bows slightly to her. “It’s an honor.”

She gives him a polite nod before she turns back to Kurt, “So. I expect you have news for me.”

“Yes.” He nods, “With all the information Blaine’s given us, we know how many men we’re going to need, and how we could use them. If you want, you can see his notes on the subject-”

“Yes, please.”

Kurt fishes the papers out of his bag and hands them to her.

“Cassandra,” Carmen turns to look at her, “Will you step out for a moment.”

The blonde woman purses her lips, but she nods and leaves closing the door behind her. Carmen walks calmly over to a chair and resumes to reading. Kurt and Sebastian stand there awkwardly watching her. Sebastian steals more than one glance at Kurt, too clearly amused by the whole thing and Kurt steps close enough to stomp discreetly on his foot, receiving an elbow jab in return. He almost groans with irritation.

It takes her at least two hours to get through the whole thing. She stops to take notes sometimes, and she reads over some parts several times. But finally she looks up from the papers and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Kurt gasps.

She straightens the stack and offers it back to him with the widest smile she’s given him yet. “Okay,” she nods.

Sebastian is looking a little dazed between the two of them.

“You’ll have a thousand of my men. They’ll arrive through plural portals, as per Mr. Anderson’s instructions. Your friend here will be in charge of letting my Captain know that they should advance. We’ll have them ready to go by dawn, in the field outside of the city. You need only arrive and tells us when. Yes?”

Sebastian nods, still stunned.

“Mr. Hummel,” she tells him, a meaningful tone to his name, “You have my word. My men will fight like they’d fight for their own home.”

He gives her a breathless smile, “Thank you.”

“Well,” she claps her hands, “That will be all.”

“I – huh – Yeah! Thank you!” he breathes, “Thank you, Carmen.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Sebastian mutters.

“You’re quite welcome,” she smiles, pointing them toward the door, “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

They nod, looking like two star-struck tweens and start to shuffle out.

“Mr. Hummel?” she calls again.

“Yes?”

“Will Blaine Anderson be leaving with you, when you return to your home?”

Kurt’s cheeks redden significantly and he barely manages to mumble out, “Yes.”

She smiles. It looks soft and warm. She doesn’t say anything else, though – she turns to her own notes and starts studying them intensely.

They’re frozen on the spot for a moment, before they manage to catch themselves again and shuffle out. Cassandra is waiting by the door, her heels clacking at a fast rhythm against the marble floor as she immediately starts guiding them out.

Kurt manages to get himself back together to give her a smug look as he bypasses her. Sebastian jogs to catch up and shoots him an amused look.

“Catty,” he whispers and Kurt snorts.

She doesn’t say goodbye as they reach the front gates to the castle and neither do they.

They walk calmly back up the city to the same hill Blaine had brought them too on their first visit. As it’s become his habit, when not busy with anything else, Kurt settles two fingers over the necklace, tucked away safely inside his shirt. It hasn’t flashed hotter at any point in the day, but after lunch, when he and Sebastian had left the Inn, Cat was still inconsolable, her desperate waling piercing through the whole house.

Sebastian notices the movement of his hand and gives him a worried glance.

“If you tell me again he can take care of himself, I swear to god…”

“I won’t. I wasn’t gonna…” Sebastian shrugs guiltily, “I wasn’t gonna say that. I just… I’m sorry. It’s gotta be very confusing for you.”

Kurt shakes his head with a sigh, “I just wish I had a way of getting to him, you know? It’s horrible knowing he’s hurting like that and not being able to at least hold him.”

Sebastian nods but doesn’t say anything. They’re finally reaching the top of the hill.

“If you have to go back, then I’m glad you’re taking him with you,” he finally says. “He deserves much better than spending the rest of his life in his family’s shadow.”

Kurt smiles, Sebastian’s words and Carmen’s smile soothing the open wound that Sam’s accusations had left. He moves to stand close to him – lets Sebastian put an arm around his back. “You’re not nearly as vile as you paint yourself to be,” Kurt tells him with a small jab to Sebastian’s stomach.

He falters but then shrugs and smirks, “I resent that.”

Kurt chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back into Sebastian and lets the green light take him back. Being friends with Sebastian is surprisingly easier than he’d thought.

-x-

The baby is crying again and it’s not hard to guess why. The exact moment Blaine tries to distract her with his hands she latches her mouth on the nearest finger. His stomach drops as he has absolutely no idea what he’s supposed to do. He lets her hold on to his finger, and even encourages her movements, teaching her how to suck, but noticing her frustration growing as still nothing comes.

He can’t do anything beside look around and try to come up with a plan even though there’s literally no plan to come up with. She needs to be breastfed and there’s no way he’s going to find that any time soon.

Luckily, it’s not more than half an hour before exhaustion takes her back to sleep.

He slips out of bed carefully and improves a little bed for her on the floor. He absolutely hates the idea of leaving her alone in his bedroom, but he can’t possibly take her with him for a walk around the castle – not unless he absolutely knows he has a safe place for her to stay.

He opens the door and practically steps on the miserable plate of food sitting there. He must’ve missed his own mealtime when he was dozing. He picks up the lousy slice of bread.

The guard at the end of the hall still hasn’t noticed him, and Blaine has zero trouble knocking him out, as usual. This time, though, he has to risk leaving him outside, definitely chancing using magic and changing his memory to the one of falling asleep.

He walks slowly through the castle – it’s not nearly as late as he’d like it to be for him to risk walking around but luckily he manages to avoid crossing path with anyone. He shudders as he goes through the empty kitchen and exits out the backdoor. The night is cold and he jogs towards the small houses.

He stops. He can hear it even from the outside. Even five yards away. He approaches carefully and looks around him to make sure nobody’s watching before he knocks gently on the door. If she can hear him under all of her wrecked sobs it’ll be a miracle. He knocks three times to no answer, so he walks around to the window. Milly Rose is bent over herself, sitting on a bed and clutching something in her hands, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of her grief. Blaine doesn’t need to see to know she’s holding Marley’s soul necklace with its diamond cracked and dull, ice-cold. The soul necklace Blaine had made her when they were thirteen.

He hesitates for a moment, before he taps on the window. Finally, the loud rapping of knuckles against glass catches her attention and she looks up. He opens the window carefully, and starts climbing inside in slow movements, “Milly-”

“Get back!” she gasps, scrambling to her feet and hurrying to the grab something from under the pillow.

“Milly, it’s-”

“I’ve got a knife! Get back!” she repeats, “Get back!”

“I’m Blaine! Milly, it’s Blaine!”

“I don’t- Blaine?!” she gasps.

He throws one leg over the windowsill slowly, and then the other, and jumps inside, keeping his hands up. “Blaine Anderson,” he says as he walks carefully into the light.

“Blaine?! But – I – I – I don’t understand! You – I…. I went to your funeral…!”

He shakes his head, “I had to run away when my father found out about my magic. I didn’t die. That was a lie they told you.”

“Oh…” she breathes, and then drops the knife and launches herself at him, arms enveloping him tight and holding on close, “Oh, Blaine!”

He hugs her back, and waits until he can find his voice again. “I’m- I’m so sorry…” he whispers, burying his face in the crook of her neck and clinging too tight, “Marley, she… I… I tried, but I couldn’t, and… I’m so sorry.”

“What?” she gasps.

“I… I found Marley last night… in the kitchen. I – I didn’t – they’ve been keeping me captive in my room, but they don’t know that I can leave, and I was coming back and I found her. She was – was in labor and she was in pain, she asked me to take her somewhere private and I took her to my room, and I helped her through it. I- I tried my best, I did everything I could – but I just… I didn’t know what I was doing, and she… she… she just… she didn’t make it.”

She’s looking at him like none of his words are making a stitch of sense, “Blaine?”

His body turns cold with realization, “Oh god, I should’ve brought her here. I should’ve brought her here! I didn’t think – I – oh god! I’m so sorry, Milly, I’m so sorry… oh god. I-”

She takes his face between her hands and forces him to look at her. “Blaine, you were with Marley?”

“Yes,” he admits, shame and guilt still making everything about him ache. “I… I found her.”

“Oh…” she breathes and she almost looks relieved, but her movements are still heavy and grieving as she turns back to her bed and sits down, “That’s… well… that’s better.”

“I – huh… what? Milly… she… she died,” he murmurs, his arms around his torso not enough to keep himself from shaking, “I… I thought you knew.”

“I do. I know.” She nods, taking a shuddering breath, and picking up the necklace where she’d dropped it on Blaine’s arrival, “But when she went into labor last night, someone must’ve heard something… because next thing we knew there were guards coming and she barely got out through the window before they were bursting in and… well... I thought _they_ ’d killed her.”

“No. I…” is the only thing he can bring himself to say. “No.”

“Blaine…” she breathes, looking up at him with the same tenderness and love she’d always had for him, “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything you could, and I’m thankful she at least had a friend with her…” he can’t help shaking his head and averting his eyes to the ceiling, willing his tears not to come, “She hadn’t been doing too well. She was sick. We knew that. We’d hoped maybe we could find a way to get her proper help, but they keep us in this castle like prisoners, they watch those gates like hawks, and we were always denied permission to go outside and it was just…” she trails off without the right words.

“Yeah…” he breathes.

“Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“The baby?” she asks nervously.

He gives her a small smile, “She’s sleeping,” he says, “I didn’t… I didn’t want to risk…”

“Of course.”

“I actually… I came here because I thought maybe you’d know what to do… she’s hungry… I have no idea what to do.”

She looks taken aback for a moment, before she sniffs and wipes at her tears with a steady hand, clearly getting a hold of herself.

“There’s an orphanage just five minutes out east of the castle. They keep stocks of breast milk. Maybe I could ask one of the kitchen maids to go there in the morning – I-”

“No. There’s no time. She’s starving and the more time she goes without food….” Blaine tells her, even though he knows it’d be the perfect opportunity to get in touch with Rachel. “I’ll go right now. Give me the address. I just – I… the baby – I…”

“Bring her here.” She says, “Just for tonight. I’ll imagine she’s safer in your room, but for tonight she can stay here.”

He considers it for a moment before he nods and sprints back into the castle.

Thankfully, she’s sleepy and silent the whole way back to Milly’s, and the one guard he crosses paths with is easily taken care of. He’ll have to swing by Isabelle’s on his way back though. Go through it all again. But for now it’s the least of his worries. When he finally hands the baby to her grandmother, he almost lets himself be hypnotized by the beauty of the moment.

-x-

_This is a map of the castle. The signaled corridors are the ones we do NOT take until it’s absolutely necessary (meaning, until things have really started happening and we’re not going silent). Don’t bother with my father’s chambers, or my brother’s, or even my mother’s for that matter. They will not be there. They will be at the grand hall and that’s where we are going to go. The moment Carmen’s men deliver the first blow on the castle we need to be getting there, otherwise they will manage to get him to the vault._

_If they do manage to get him to the vault, Plan B is to stake it out. He’ll have to leave at some point, and I’ve signaled all possible exits._

_Either way, Kurt should be taken to the throne. If Anderson escapes, well… he escapes. He’s not going to be able to be commander in chief while on the run, so our top priority is definitely taking over the castle, instead of just becoming trapped in it. Don’t forget that that hall will be crawling with the highest ranking officials, and a large amount of security._

-x-

They arrive just in time for dinner and everyone’s spirits are significantly raised when Sebastian shares the good news. Kurt smiles along with everyone else and eats his whole meal without complaint. If anyone notices he does it one handed so that his fingers can rest a little over the center of his chest, the little pendants resting side by side under his fingertips, no one comments. And if anyone notices he seems more interested in looking at the corridor door than in participating in the conversation, no one comments either.

After the meal is over, though, he bids them goodnight so quietly barely anyone catches it at all and retreats to Blaine’s bedroom. Cat’s back to pacing around the room at a near jog, and Kurt gives her a sad smile before he crawls into bed and buries his face in the pillow. It still smells a little like Blaine, despite his absence and Kurt’s presence, and it does soothe him somewhat.

He watches as, for a few minutes, Cat interrupts her movements to crawl into bed and whimper for a moment. His fingers bury easily in her smooth fur and she moves into his touch, still miserable.

It doesn’t last long. Soon enough, she’s on high alert again, and Kurt doesn’t have the heart to stop her before she’s made her way out of the bedroom.

He turns and curls up a little tighter into the pillows and covers.

After a while, there’s a knock on the door.

With a sigh, he sits back up and tries not to look as permanently scared as he feels, “Yes?”

Elliott pokes his head in with a kind little smile. He slips inside and closes the door softly behind him before he walks over and sits gingerly on the bed, “How are you feeling?”

Kurt huffs a bitter laugh, “Honestly?”

“No. Fictionally,” Elliot teases lightly, “Yes, honestly. I know you can’t be… well.”

Kurt shrugs and lets himself slide back down into the covers, pulling them tight over his shoulders, “Like shit,” he murmurs, “I feel like shit.”

Elliot reaches out to pat the outline of his arm beneath the thick blanket, “I’m sorry.”

“I have no idea how to stop feeling so scared and paranoid for him,” he admits, “He wrote me a letter saying he was in control and all that crap, but honestly, I look at Cat and I don’t see that. All I really, truly know for certain is that he’s in pain, and I have no idea why.”

“That’s the worst kind of limbo…”

“And I can’t even really be mad at him because… this was just… necessary. And brave. So stupidly brave.” He pinches the bridge of his nose where he can feel a migraine forming, “I’m proud of him, but I also… I don’t know. I just – right now, I’d really rather he was a coward and here with me.”

“If he was, he wouldn’t be the man that you truly love.”

Kurt gives him a harsh scowl, “I know that, but I…-”

“You want him with you, no matter what.”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Elliot sighs, clearly uncertain of what to say next and silence falls over them.

“Distract me with things about you and Sebastian…?” Kurt offers half-heartedly, “What’s it like to be with the true icon of all things obnoxious?” he offers a little teasing smirk, even if it’s weak.

Elliot rolls his eyes and pokes his shoulder playfully, “I was actually coming to suggest another distraction technique.”

“Oh?”

“We should get back out there,” Elliot tells him, “We still have a few days, and the more places we have adhering to the riots the better, right? Quinn and Puck have been doing a good job everywhere else, but you know you’re who people really listen to.”

Kurt sighs, “Right.”

“I understand staring at Cat is all you have right now. But… she’s not going to be able to give you the information you truly want, and… well, I have to be honest Kurt – you have a responsibility that goes beyond your relationship. So does Blaine and that’s why he’s in that castle, right now. I think he’d be disappointed if he knew you were curling up in that bed most of your time, not doing what you set out to do.”

Kurt refrains from lashing out at those assumptions like he had before. Elliott didn’t know Blaine like Kurt did, and he certainly didn’t know anything about the two of them together. But even so, he was right about some of it and Kurt had to acknowledge at least that.

“We can leave tomorrow.” He nods, “I’m sorry. I’ll get my act together.”

Elliot shakes his head, “Nothing to be sorry for,” he says before he squeezes Kurt’s shoulder and stands back up, “I’ll go tell the others, then.”

-x-

Blaine wipes the sweat off his brow and goes right back to it. He pushes the spade into the dirt, presses it deeper with his foot, and yanks it back out, shoving the dirt up and over his shoulder. He does it again, and again, and again. He’s knee deep when he has to stop for a breath. He looks up; through the window the flickering, feeble light of a candle barely lets him see, but he can make out Milly’s silhouette as she paces back and forth, bottle held up to the baby girl’s mouth. He closes his eyes with a relieved sigh and can’t help smiling.

At least Milly will have her granddaughter when all this is over. It’s not her daughter, and it’s certainly not a substitute, but it’s someone she’ll love just as fiercely.

It’d be easy telling himself that the small girl would be alright in her grandmother’s arms. That, as long as he leaves her with Milly, she’ll be safe and he’ll have kept his promise to Marley, but he knows he’d never forgive himself if he did that.

Even if it means staying behind as the love of his life leaves him forever.

He gives them one last lingering look before he shakes his head and squares his shoulders, going right back to digging. He’s deep to his waist when the back door to Milly’s small house opens and she tells him softly, “Blaine, sweetheart, I think that’s deep enough.”

He looks up at her, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. How does one discuss the depth of a loved one’s grave?

“It’ll be dawn soon, and you should be getting back,” she adds, bending down to land a soothing hand on his shoulder. Blaine can only nod, before hoisting himself out of the hole and walking over to where Marley’s body is still wrapped in a white sheet.

He pauses for a moment so Milly can say her last goodbyes and swallows his own emotions out of respect for a mother’s consuming and devastating grief.

He slides carefully back into the grave and lays her gently on the ground, the single white rose still laying beautifully at her chest. With a parting brush of his fingers to her frame, he climbs out and offers to take the baby girl from Milly so she can start burying her daughter.

He holds the baby’s head close to his chest and rocks her gently while she sleeps through the whole thing.

The sky is becoming a light shade of grey by the time he kisses Milly goodbye and walks carefully back to his bedroom. He stops for a moment, at the sight of his empty bed, the covers barely even rumpled where Marley’s body used to be – but still stained with blood and too many memories.

He the baby back on her small, silly bed on the floor, with thick blankets softening the ground and tall pillows bordering it, and lays her down, sleep uninterrupted. The sight of her peace and calmness leaves him soothed and he can’t help staying there and watching her for a long while.

He’s just finished changing the bed sheets and covers when she wakes up and he grabs another bottle – hands shaking as he does it for the first time in his life. She takes it gladly, even trying to grab the bottle with adorably greedy little hands, and he laughs. She startles at the sound and looks up, tiny bleary eyes filled with attention and curiosity, so he smiles and does it again, and again until she’s, apparently, satisfied and goes back to her food.

He’s beyond exhausted and drained, physically, emotionally, intellectually… there’s not a single part of him, as miniscule as it may be, that’s not screaming for relent, and yet… with this little girl in his arms, he can’t stop looking at her, at her curious bright eyes, at her pouty little lips, her tiny nose, and the tuff of wispy black hair on her head, wanting to hold her as close as possible – wanting to feel her tiny fingers clasped around his own with that surprising strength babies have. Wanting it forever.

He can’t admit to himself how sure he is of it, but at the very least he can admit to the possibility of this being exactly what parenthood feels like.

-x-

_I will be finding Rachel after a small amount of time. The beginning of her stay is crucial and I mustn’t disturb it. However, as soon as she’s had time to settle in and acquaint herself with the castle, I’ll find her and we’ll take care of mapping out our actions from within the castle._

_Obviously, it’d be ideal if she were assigned to cater at the grand hall, but it’s also highly unlikely._

_Hopefully, she’ll be able to give you more information about the logistics of the party itself. Use that information to tune certain parts of the plan I sent you. If there’s any drastic changes, forget about me and go through with whatever you think it’s best. If those drastic changes still include me, pass it along to Rachel ASAP, and hopefully I’ll get to her in time to know about it._

_I’m sorry I made such a mess, but I’m sure you’ll agree this is for the best._

_Wes will make a great handler for Rachel._

-x-

When Kurt arrives back at the Inn, after coming back from the last town, it’s the eve before the final attack, and there’s a tangible tension to the house. There’s a lot of silence, and a lot of stillness to it. The living room has been stripped bare of its usual furniture and turned into the conference room, so they could have enough room to put up every single of Blaine’s maps and blueprints, and pin the corresponding notes to the appropriate places.

The sort of planning that goes on behind closed doors is now on display for everyone because, for the first time, everyone is taking part in it – even Mercedes, Joe and Emma, who have always stayed behind, their healing abilities much too precious to jeopardize until now.

At every moment, there’s at least two people looking intently at the maps and schemes, not just memorizing, but making sure everything holds up together. To the information Blaine gave them, they’ve added even more, relayed by Rachel who, over the last couple of weeks, has managed to communicate with the Dalton cell. As short and rare as her messages had to be, they’ve been just as crucial.

When he gets to his bedroom, there are clothes spread on his bed. They’re black and the exact kind of clothes everyone had been wearing the night he arrived at the camp.

He has to take a couple of minutes to look at it and steel himself. This is it. Tomorrow morning, at breaking dawn, he’ll be wearing these and waiting for the right moment to go in.

“You should try them on,” Quinn says as she passes by his door, “Make sure you can move well in them. Afterwards, you could come help me check the guns.”

He nods dumbly and she disappears without another word.

His hands are shaky as he undresses himself and pulls on the black outfit. It fits him like a glove. It’s tight so it doesn’t get in the way, but it stretches easily and lets him move without difficulty. He finds all the pockets easily and checks the belt for where each weapon goes, sliding Mike’s dagger already into place.

He can’t bring himself to look more than two seconds at his reflection in the mirror, before he takes off to find Quinn.

“Wow…!” he says as he finds himself looking at a room covered in weaponry. Sam is sitting at a corner sharpening blades, while Quinn sits in the middle surrounded with guns, taking them apart and cleaning them. “I didn’t know this room existed.”

Quinn looks up and quirks her eyebrow, “You thought we got our guns from the market the day before, or something?”

“I just… I… I never thought about it. But… well, never mind,” he sighs, “what can I help you with?”

“You can load these,” she says, pointing toward a pile of already checked and clean guns.

There’s a box of bullets next to it and he sits down and starts putting them, one by one, into place.

They work in silence, which is both a blessing, as he’d have no idea what to talk about when something so big is about to happen, and a curse, because each time he fumbles and drops a bullet they can hear it like an explosion.

The fifth time that it happens Quinn stops moving altogether before she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “You’ve got to get it together, Kurt.”

“I…”

“Shaking hands? Fumbling…? That can’t happen tomorrow. You need to get a grip.”

“I just… I will. I will.” He nods.

She sighs and turns completely toward him, stilling his hands and giving him a warm smile, “Hey. You can do this. No sweat. You’re more than ready for this. You were amazing at the camp, and this won’t be that different. You can do this because you’ve done it before. You’ll be great, okay?”

“Huh…” he half laughs.

“I’m serious. I have complete faith in you.”

“She’s right,” Sam tells him, from where he’s putting down the last of the swords. Kurt’s startled to hear his voice, and as he looks at him he finds his eyes softer than he expected, even if bearing some marks from the last time they’d spoken. “You’re good. I think you’re ready for this, Kurt. You could do it in your sleep.”

“Okay, now you’re over selling it, Sam,” Quinn chuckles and Sam returns it. To Kurt he smiles cordially, almost professional. It hurts Kurt more than he thinks it should, to think of Sam’s coldness, where usually there’s only warmth.

-x-

Blaine hesitates for only a moment before he covers Rachel’s mouth in a swift motion. She startles awake, almost screams but he presses his hand harder and moves close enough for her to know him, even in the darkness.

Her eyes widen with recognition and just as his hand slips away from her mouth her arms are already wrapping around his shoulders.

“Blaine!” she gasps in a breathy whisper.

He shakes his head and tilts it toward the bathroom door. She slides quietly out of bed and they tiptoe their way across the bedroom, checking to see if any girl has so much as stirred in her sleep.

Once they’re finally inside the bathroom, Blaine hugs her close again, hand cradling the back of her hand as he breathes her in.

“Hi!” he sighs.

“Blaine!” she gasps, “I’ve been so worried!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he takes her hand and squeezes, “I couldn’t tell anyone, least of all you. I’m so sorry. But it’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry I didn’t come here sooner, I’ve just been… held up.”

She frowns and he shakes his head.

“It’s a long story, Rach. And it has nothing to do with tomorrow – for now. So… I need to know what kind of information you passed along to them, and how that might have influenced changes to the plan I sent them.”

She nods and at once starts telling him about the whole process of her time in the castle. He listens intently and makes mental notes of what might call for a change in his plan, and what is perfectly useless. They spend the next hour in the bathroom hashing out details and dividing between the two of them what needs to be done from inside the castle. Luckily, none of the girls Rachel is rooming with wake up with the need to pee.

He leaves her with another hug and another apology for not having talked to her sooner, and makes his way back to his bedroom quickly.

He closes the door and goes straight to the little bundle of blankets. She’s awake and making those adorable little noises she makes whenever she’s about to start crying.

“Hey there, little girl.” She reaches for his fingers as usual, “Are you hungry, sweet pea?”

She makes another grab for it and he laughs, “Ohhhh! That’s not what you want, dumb dumb.”

After feeding her, he lets her sleep in his arms for a little bit – dozes for a while himself. The last few days haven been absolutely hectic with trying to keep her happy, and making sure he doesn’t run out of the milk he managed to score at the orphanage. That’s probably the only reason he does manage to close his eyes and sleep for a moment, taking into account what’s going to be happening in a little over twelve hours. When he can’t sit still anymore, he puts her back in her little makeshift bed and hopes his restlessness isn’t contagious.

The sun is high in the sky when she wakes up again. He doesn’t cross the room right away – sometimes she just wants to be awake, no assistance needed, and he likes to watch her then too.

But this time that’s not the case, it seems. She’s grimacing and after a full minute of it, the smell finally hits him and Blaine bursts out laughing like he hasn’t since he left the Inn. She looks so absolutely disgusted with it – every other time she’d just looked angry at Blaine for allowing that travesty to happen in her makeshift diaper, but this time she’s clearly trying on a whole new set of facial expressions. He picks her up gingerly and winces at the state of it, torn between laughing some more and groaning, “That’s very pretty. That’s amazing. Wow.” He keeps talking to her as he takes her to the bathroom, keeping her at arm’s length and chuckling every time she makes a face, “Yes, that’s right. You smell. That’s your smell. You did that. You smelly little beastie!”

He washes her carefully with warm water before he makes quick work of cleaning the blankets she’d been sleeping on.

He’s halfway across the room, starting the back and forth pacing that usually gets her to sleep, when the door to his door clicks open. He barely has time to lock himself away in the bathroom. With a heaving chest, he checks his watch and frowns – it’s not the usual time for his meal, yet.

He lays her down carefully, rearranging the newly cleaned blankets in the tub so she’s safe and warm and puts a finger to his lips. Mouthing and waving bye-bye, he kisses her forehead swiftly and then plants a hand on the door, making it impervious to sound, finally stepping back out.

His heart skips a beat at the sight before him.

Cooper is sitting at Blaine’s old desk. He looks exactly the same as he had all those years ago.

“Ah!” Cooper breathes and it snaps Blaine back into action. He closes the bathroom door behind himself, “There you are!”

“Cooper.”

“That is still my name,” Cooper says with jovial smile, “Dad told me you were back and done with your nonsense.”

Blaine can’t do anything but raise his eyebrows.

“Honestly, I thought you’d come back sooner, but I’m just glad you finally did, Blaine. I’ve missed you. We may have had our differences, but you’re my brother, and you know I love you.”

“Right…”

“Listen, I’ve been telling dad how I think keeping you locked up is completely uncalled for, but you know the old man. Stubborn as a mule.” He rolls his eyes as if they were old friends reminiscing about their silly common acquaintance, “I was even hoping you could attend my birthday gala tomorrow… You know, make a big spectacle out of your return and everything. It’d mean the world to me to have you there,” he smiles, “But he’s just not having any of it.”

“Cooper, I… I just. What are you doing here?”

Cooper shrugs, “It’s my birthday and I wanted to see my little brother,” he grins, “Just don’t tell dad, because you’re really not supposed to have visitors,” he adds in a fake whisper.

“Yes,” Blaine could laugh with how insane this conversation is, “Because I’m a prisoner.”

“This is quite the luxury cell you have here, though. Credit where it’s due.”

“Yeah, _dad_ was really kind to let me stay here while I’m… well, locked up.” Blaine drawls.

“I’m sure he’ll let you go soon enough.” Cooper waves his hand dismissively. “I mean, you told him about the riots and Carmen’s plans and those seem like they’re really true, so, he’ll see you’re being faithful, and he’ll give you your freedom. I bet, if you wanted, he’d even give you a good position in the government.”

It takes a lot out of Blaine not to balk at his brother and simply blast him into the high heavens, but somehow he manages to cross his arms over his chest and shrug casually, “I just want peace and quiet.”

“Well, I get that,” Cooper nods with what’s probably supposed to be a sympathetic smile, “Not everyone wants the spotlight. It’s okay.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Blaine mutters, and if Cooper detects his sarcasm, he ignores it.

“Anyway,” he claps his hands, “I’m dying to hear all about that Resistance. Phew, they must be intense, right?”

Without anything to say, Blaine just frowns at his brother, and then somehow manages to get out, “Yeah. Pretty intense.”

“I still can’t believe you got mixed up in all that, Blaine. Really, I was… I was so worried for you.”

“Well…” Blaine bites the inside of his cheeks to keep from screaming or punching something, “It’s not like you left me much of a choice, is it, Cooper? You told our father about Cat. I know you did.”

“I was only trying to protect you from yourself.” Cooper shakes his head sadly.

“Like you were trying to protect me from my friends?” The words are out of his mouth like a whip before he can stop himself. Kitty dead. Marley dead.

Cooper looks taken aback for a moment before he takes a deep breath and then draws up a huge fake smile, “Anyway! You haven’t even wished me a happy birthday, yet!”

“Let me get one thing very straight, Cooper,” Blaine grits out, stepping only a little closer, “I will never forgive you.”

Cooper’s eyes widen and his jaw drops.

“I’d really appreciate it if you left me alone, now.” Blaine says, pointing at the door. “And I truly do wish you the happiest of birthdays, brother.” He punctuates every word with acid and disdain.

-x-

_You’ll be coming in through the sewage system. There’s an abandoned area that leads to the dungeons and you can come in through the opening at the cross between Apleton Street and Lopo Avenue. I marked it with a blue spot beneath the lid, so you’ll know exactly which one it is._

_Follow the map. It’s a tricky route and one wrong move could be catastrophic, so pay attention._

_Like I said, it’ll lead you to the dungeons – from then on take the route I mapped out. Hopefully either me or Rachel will be waiting for you, with the guards disabled. However, if we don’t make it down there in time (aim for seven pm, as the gala is scheduled to start exactly an hour earlier, and this will be when the most people will be there), be sure to take them out. They’re usually two and they’re always there even when there are no prisoners to guard, which will quite possibly be the case. Isabelle will be at the gala, don’t bother looking for her._

-x-

Will goes first, to check if the coast is somewhat clear. They wait for a minute in the cold dead night, just outside the Inn. Kurt wonders if it’s the last time he’ll see it. Will returns after a moment, and this time he keeps the portal somewhat open so everyone can shuffle through.

It doesn’t even faze Kurt, but he’s not sure if it’s because he’s finally gotten used to them, or if it’s because his insides are in such a knot they couldn’t possibly unclench enough to allow any indisposition.

There’s an unconscious guard on the ground. Will probably knocked him out when he was checking the coast.

Santana is already knocking at a door, her gun behind her back. When the door opens, she smiles, almost politely, and says, “Hello, ma’am, we’re from the Resistance, and we need to stay in your house for a few hours, excuse us.”

When the woman sputters, Santana playfully holsters her gun, making a show of it. Practically falling over herself, the old woman shuffles aside, and Santana urges everyone inside. She receives an apology from most of them. Will, in fact, apologizes profusely as he guides her to a chair and ties her up.

The whole thing is only made weirder when, after a couple of hours, she offers them tea and cookies, telling them where to find the jar. They wait patiently for hours until it’s almost seven pm. Finally, they untie her and bid her goodbye and thanks. She waves them off with a pleased smile, and Kurt makes a mental note of giving her a medal or whatever a crown prince that doesn’t plan on staying can do (if he has the time for it before he goes home).

The whole thing, as bizarre as it was, has helped immensely with his nerves and his walk is steady when he approaches the sewage opening. Will is the first one going down the ladder, while Quinn brings up the rear. He hears her tell Sebastian “Tell them to come in forty minutes,” before the lid is pulled back into place and they’re taking off at a soft jog.

It’s like running through a maze, but fortunately Will seems to know what he’s doing and he never falters, guiding them easily through turns and more turns. The end of the way announces itself gradually, the tunnels becoming smaller and smaller until they’re crawling through it, on tip toes, knees and elbows, and finally Will is pushing another trapdoor open and they’re filing out, one by one, taking only a moment to get their bearing.

“There’s a lot of protection in this castle – I’ll be lucky if I can manage a good shield,” Will tells them. “Don’t rely too much on my magic.” They all nod their understanding before taking off again, down the cold, dark corridors of the dungeons.

As Blaine said it would be, the cells are all empty, doors hanging open, bestowing upon the place an eerie sort of feeling. One has to wonder how many people waited here for their torturer or executioner.

Upon reaching the end of the long corridor, they find two unconscious guards and a familiar figure waiting for them.

It’s like all the wind has been knocked out of his sails, and Kurt couldn’t care less if it’s inappropriate or unsafe, he sprints the few feet separating him from Blaine, throwing his arms around him and pressing his face as deep into his shoulder as possible. Blaine hugs him back, and Kurt can hear him mumble “So sorry” over and over again.

They’re given maybe five seconds to hold each other before everyone is jogging past them and there’s a hurried tap on Kurt’s shoulder, “Come on, guys.”

Kurt sniffs and wipes the tears he didn’t realize were there, as he pulls back. Blaine gives him a feeble smile before they take off after the others.

They’re already on the third floor, a trail of dead or unconscious guards behind them, when they have to stop for the group to split up. Blaine, Santana and Quinn have to go hold up the back up guards, while the rest heads off to the Grand Hall.

In the small moment of pause, Blaine grabs Kurt’s hand, eyes too bright, and whispers, “I can’t go with you.”

“What?”

“To your world. I can’t go with you. I – something happened and - I just – I can’t. But I promise I’ll get you there!”

“Blaine!” Kurt gasps, too shocked and confused to do anything but frown, “What are you talking about? I-”

Everyone flinches as the whole castle shakes, and dust showers over them – they weren’t supposed to be this close to the west tower when it started.

“Let’s go!” Will’s voice calls urgently from the front.

Blaine opens his mouth, something clearly aching to get out, but eventually, when it doesn’t, he just closes it with miserable eyes and takes off running in the opposite direction Kurt’s supposed to be going.

 


	22. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Character death, graphic description of violence and blood.
> 
> As we’re nearing the end (after this, two chapters left), I can’t help saying thanks again to notthetoothfairy for helping me with this insane fic.

Kurt stands rooted to the spot as he watches Blaine, Santana and Quinn disappear fast in the opposite direction he’s supposed to be going. There’s another explosion that spurs him back to action, and he realizes to some horror everyone has already sprinted off. He doesn’t let himself second guess it as he sprints through corridors he can only be half sure are the right ones. The farther he gets, the louder the ruckus of footsteps running gets, so he can’t be too far off.

He skips over unconscious guards and tells himself he’s doing fine. He’s doing perfectly fine. Nothing is screwed up or going terribly wrong. Absolutely nothing.

Everything’s going according to plan.

_I can’t go with you._

He spots the tip of a foot disappearing into the corridor up ahead and he runs even faster. Maybe if he runs fast enough he can escape the consuming dread that Blaine’s words brought upon him.

It takes all of his strength not to go back and run after Blaine instead; shake an explanation out of him so that he can think of a way around it. He’s sure, he’s absolutely sure that Blaine can’t have thought it all through. He can’t have seen all of the possibilities, all of the solutions that might be hiding in plain sight. Kurt’s sure once they talk about it they’ll figure it out, and everything will be back to the way it’s supposed to be. They can’t _not_ have their forever, they just can’t.

Even worse, it takes all of Kurt’s strength not to freeze, completely paralyzed, as a part of himself he’d really rather not listen to right now tells him he’s being insane. It tires to remind him of Blaine’s tears two weeks ago – his absolute devastation at the thought of parting ways. It reminds him of Blaine’s sudden peace of mind as he’d decided to come. It reminds him that Kurt is an idiot if he thinks Blaine hasn’t looked for any possibility of keeping their happy ending alive. That Blaine loves him with the power of a thousand suns, just like he does Blaine, and if he’s telling Kurt that it’s not happening… then… it probably really isn’t. After all, they’d just spent two weeks apart and Kurt has absolutely no idea what happened to Blaine in that time, but he knows now it was life-changing.

Still, for the moment being, he can’t possibly begin to let himself accept that reality. No. Kurt Hummel is going back home, and he is doing it with the love of his life at his side. He will do it with Blaine’s hand in his and then they will… well, he has no idea what they’re supposed to do when they get there, but he knows they’ll be happy. Somehow, they just will.

And everything he ever planned for his life – every hope he ever had, it’ll come true, and he will be on a stage singing, and he will design his own line of clothing, and he will have an apartment with a view of Central Park, and people will know his name, they will know he is someone, someone worth taking notice of. Someone noble and good, someone who fought for his dreams, for everything he had. And Blaine will be there.

Blaine will be there in the audience, or stopping by his office for a quick lunch and maybe even something naughty under the desk that leaves them giddy and flushed and giggling, or kissing him passionately as he arrives home after a long day’s work as the setting sun shines golden and beautiful through their wide windows, or holding their baby in his arms and laughing while he doesn’t notice the way Kurt can’t stop looking at him as if he hung the moon, and the sun, and the stars, and the planets. Blaine will be there and everything will be picture perfect, and not a hair out of place.

Blaine will be there and… well… that’s non-negotiable. Isn’t it?

What happens if Blaine doesn’t come? Will any of it have any meaning left? Performing to a sold-out audience where he doesn’t know or care to know anyone clapping for him? Spending hours upon hours locked in an office or a studio because that’s the only place he gets to feel useful anymore? Coming home to find it empty, to find its wide space suffocating and so completely scary? Living his entire life wondering if Blaine would’ve still loved him in that moment like only he knew how? Not having anyone that could truly understand what he’s been through and not having anyone he can at least tell the truth and hope for some sympathy back? Living his whole life stuck to memories, stuck to ideas and responsibilities that will never truly leave his shoulders without someone who can genuinely tell him he understands his guilt? Trying to find someone else to fill the void, and maybe even succeeding…? Maybe even falling in love with someone – but could it ever be like it was now? Would that person know how to soothe his nightmares when they inevitably came? Would that person understand his shaking hands or his scared eyes? Would that person understand why he would stop breathless every time he would stop a maroon cat crossing his way? Would that anyone else ever understand _him_ as he is today?

Could there ever be someone else, not from this world, not from this reality? Or could he just… give up on that part of himself and know in his heart that he was still luckier in a matter of months than some people are in a lifetime?

But then… perhaps even worse – perhaps even more important…

What happens if Blaine does go and he’s not enough? He’s not enough to keep Kurt sane, and Kurt’s not enough to keep him happy. What happens if Kurt’s imagination has been running too wild, unrestrained and focusing on only the things it wanted to focus on? What happens if Sam’s right? If they crack under the pressure of suddenly being each other’s whole support system and it all collapses…? What happens if there really is nowhere for them to turn to once they get there?

But most of all – what happens if _Kurt_ doesn’t go?

_Something happened and I can’t go with you._

There’s a loud burst of noise, of doors opening and the unmistakable ruckus of a panicked crowd comes accompanied with the sound of gunshots. Kurt turns the corner just in time to see wide doors open to a big chaotic hall. There’s a barricade of guards at the door, shooting tirelessly at the oncoming group, but Will is shielding everyone, clearly struggling but managing it through clenched teeth and fisted hands.

It’s a complete standstill. While they’re shooting, Will can’t lift the shield. While he’s shielding, the Resistance can’t shoot back.

The guards aren’t particularly smart, though, because after what feels like forever, guns start clicking empty, no more bullets to shoot. And it only takes a split second for Will to drop the shield and the attacking side fights back, the barricade dropping to the ground almost instantly, as Puck, Finn, Tina, Mike, Mercedes and Will don’t miss a single target.

Kurt fumbles to get his gun in his hands, drops it, ducks down to get it, just as another shot rings louder than any other before – in the split second of silence that always comes after a successful strike – and Will’s body is on the floor, right there next to Kurt’s gun.

Kurt’s in such a state of shock he barely even registers yet more shots. He grabs his gun, ducking even more as he looks up. He realizes, with some relief, that this time they came from Finn and Puck, and right behind the fallen barricade of guards, there’s now a couple of dead high ranking officials with their guns drawn.

Shaking the shock off his system (otherwise he won’t live for another ten seconds), Kurt follows them into the Grand Hall, where most people are hiding under tables or behind chairs – the whole place in a complete state of pandemonium. Most of them aren’t even looking at the new arrivals – instead all of the attention is directed at one of the balconies on the empty top floor.

Every two seconds, a shot is fired from there and another body hits the ground. The hall is filled with the bodies of several high-ranking officials.

Kurt realizes, with a small sense of warmth, that Rachel is the one up there wreaking havoc.

Sooner or later, though, she’s going to run out of bullets, or guards will get up there to stop her. She’s a sitting duck, just as much as the people she’s shooting at right now. He looks around himself, trying desperately to take in his surroundings without wasting time or getting lost. Most of the space is filled with fancy tables that are now a mess of broken porcelain and glass and bloodstains everywhere, people cowering behind them, using them as shields. The farthest wall is entirely made of glass, with a fountain lining up most its length except for the dead center of it. That’s where he sees them.

His heart stops.

John Anderson is sitting on a high chair, a throne, actually. His jaw is clenched as he surveys the whole scene – he watches it like one watches a sports game: maybe the favorite team is loosing, but it’s no reason to panic or show too much frustration just yet. His eyes are travelling slowly and methodically through the hall, squinting here and there. Clearly, in his head he’s making some sort of plan, but he must not feel the pressure to be fast. Kurt feels a chill going down his spine at the picture it presents. A cold, calculating sociopath.

The slightly smaller chair on his right is occupied with a woman clearly forcing herself to remain calm or still in the face of chaos, her hands are white-knuckled as she grabs the edge of her seat. Her eyes are bright and big, like Blaine’s – and yet… not quite. The chair next to that is empty and Kurt wonders if that’s where Blaine’s brother was supposed to be. To his left, though, on a low chair and just a still as Anderson, is another woman. She has long silver hair and too thin features. Even so and as far away as he still is, Kurt would recognize her anywhere. His mother used to draw portraits of her all the time. Her drawers were filled to the brim with them. And, even if that hadn’t been the case, he would have still known – there was no world in which this woman wasn’t his mother’s sister.

His hand shakes as he raises his gun and shoots at the man at the center of it all. It comes as no surprise when the bullet hits a shield, but the woman’s eyes turn immediately to Kurt.

That’s Isabelle. That’s the woman who saved his mother’s life – and to some extent his own – and that’s the woman who can get him back home. But mostly, that’s his aunt.

Her own eyes flicker with recognition and he can see the way her grip tightens around the arms of her chair.

John Anderson notices as well, his eyes suddenly trained on Kurt. Nothing’s ever looked as scary to Kurt as the way the man actually smiles with recognition. The smile is fleeting, though – like the way someone would respond to an impolite, inappropriate joke; one moment it’s there, the other it’s not replaced with stoicism. He shifts his eyes from Kurt’s easily, as if the exchange was of little importance to him, and turns to Isabelle.

Anderson tells her something, but she doesn’t even take her eyes off Kurt. Then, there’s a gun pointed at her temple, and Kurt doesn’t even think before he shoots at Anderson again. There’s no shield anymore, but the bullet misses him and hits the glass wall behind him.

It shatters in a spectacle that stops everything for a moment.

John Anderson doesn’t quite manage to hide his panic, and Kurt would shoot again if he wasn’t still stupidly paralyzed in shock. Everyone snaps back into action at once, and bullets shower onto Kurt, but none hit. He realizes with a gasp that Isabelle is shielding him. And he looks up to find her white-faced and clenching her jaw as Anderson looks positively livid. She doesn’t even see it coming when he pistol-whips her in the head and she collapses, unconscious.

The moment the shield drops a bullet wheezes right past Kurt’s ear and he ducks behind the nearest table. Taking a moment to regain some kind of composure or focus.

Every second he stays there is a second more for someone to come around it and shoot him, so eventually he crawls carefully around it until he can try to get another clear shot at Anderson who, shieldless, is now, like his wife, hiding behind the chair and snarling orders into some official’s face and shooting somewhat blindly in every direction.

The shot is nowhere near clear, but maybe a miracle could happen. So he sets himself up to take aim, just as the man Anderson had been talking to sprints, ducking and dodging until he’s halfway across the room, and then throws something onto the balcony where Rachel was still shooting.

Kurt realizes with horror what’s about to happen a second before it does.

He’s thrown back with the force of the explosion and he’s not quite sure if he blacked out for a second there, but when he manages to get a bearing of his surroundings his ears are ringing and he can taste blood in his mouth, his lip throbbing with pain. Around him there’s shattered marble everywhere, the balcony completely destroyed, the right side of the room wrecked. He can’t move.

 _Rachel_.

-x-

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Sprinting as fast as he can through corridors and staircases, Blaine can’t outrun the fact that he’s possibly done the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life. He never meant to say it. He told himself to keep his mouth shut and, should he survive tonight, they’d talk and he’d tell Kurt “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you with all my heart, Kurt, but I promised I’d keep this child safe, and I can’t bring her with us, because I can’t leave her grandmother alone and broken, nothing left to smile about. And I love this child, and I love her grandmother, and I can’t leave them behind, I just can’t. I love you, I know you know I do, but I love them both, too. I’ve never loved someone like I love you, and I never will, but I’ve also never loved someone like I love that baby. Somehow, I’m a father, and that means she comes first. The baby comes before me – not before you, but before me.”

Instead, he stopped to look at Kurt. To look at him with the knowledge that these words would have to be said, and… and he found himself saying it.

And he’s so stupid, because now he has no idea what’s going through Kurt’s head, but it’s probably not helping him survive the chaos and the violence of that Hall.

He runs faster – the faster he takes care of this, the faster he goes back to making damn sure Kurt’s okay.

Blaine skids to a halt as he hears the first hint of running footsteps. He holds his hands out, signaling the girls to stop as well. They stand there for a second before the footsteps sound closer and closer. He practically has to close his eyes and give all of his energy into it, once they round the corner, but he manages to catch them in the strong hold of vines pulling the guards back and down, sending them into such a panic that they can’t even try to shoot back as Santana and Quinn start taking them down one by one.

“You okay?” Santana mutters, taking in the sweat running down his forehead, as she doesn’t hesitate between winning shots.

He grits his teeth. “You want to try to do this much magic in a place protected against it by the fucking court witch?!”

“But you’re doing it,” she frowns.

“Yeah. I’ve been doing it for two weeks. I’m stronger than her. Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” he tells her, clenching every muscle in his body that little bit harder – the guards scream as the vines tighten.

“Well, you’ll have to tough it out, cuz-”

“Santana, just shut up! I can-” Suddenly it’s as if all the air around him became easy, and light, and cooperative. Instead of feeling like he was trying to swim and keep his head above water, he was the freest he’s ever been in this castle. No. His magic was the freest it’s ever been in this castle.

“What?”

“She took it down.” He frowns, as, without much more than a passing thought, the vines forcibly drag the guards all the way back.

“What?” Quinn turns to him as well, while he’s still staring at the suddenly empty corridor. The screams are barely audible in a matter of seconds.

“Isabelle lifted all of the protections around the castle,” he breathes, and he can’t stop himself from smiling, “She’s… I think she’s with us.”

Santana scoffs, “Yeah, excuse me if I don’t congratulate her bravery. It’s just that I think it should’ve come eighteen years ago.”

“She sav-”

“Guys!” Quinn calls, a little exasperated, her face flushed with annoyance and urgency, “Is this _really_ the time?!”

Blaine nods in apology at once, “I can handle this alone, now. You can go up to the Grand Hall and back them up. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he tells them before he takes off to intercept the rest of the guards and open the castle’s gates for Carmen’s troops.

He’s halfway there when he turns a corner and finds himself face to face with Cooper.

His brother’s face is flushed, his hair is glued to his temples with sweat and there’s blood trailing down his arm where a bullet must have hit.

“Blaine,” Cooper gasps. “Of course.”

“Cooper.”

“We should’ve known.”

Blaine hesitates. There’s a lot of things he could say right now. _Yes, you should have_ or _If you’d known me like family is supposed to, you would have_.

Instead he just says, “Go. _Now_.”

“I…”

“Just go!” Blaine practically shoves at him.

“Blaine-”

“Cooper! Do you want to _die_?!” Blaine groans, grabbing his good arm and turning him towards the closest route to the dungeons.

“No!”

“Then just go! Go through the dungeons and no one will see you, but go!”

_And don’t come back._

-x-

There’s some part of Kurt’s brain that’s telling him he doesn’t have time to cry or so much as care about Rachel right now, but that’s still what’s happening as his body convulses with pain all over and everything else becomes completely irrelevant.

In the back of his mind he recognizes Finn’s voice shouting, and it’s on auto-pilot that he looks around to find him. Instead he catches sight of it. A little strand of brown hair sinking beneath the surface of the fountain, the red glow of a soul necklace glinting almost imperceptibly in the water.

Kurt doesn’t think before he acts. He sprints his way across the hall, fate and luck, more than skill, making every bullet miss him, and then he jumps in the fountain before he’s even had a moment to prepare himself.

The water is ice cold as it envelops him, but he keeps his eyes open and his lungs full as he dives deeper, chasing Rachel’s sinking body. He loops an arm around her waist just as they hit the bottom of the deep fountain, and he kicks his feet against it to propel them back up.

He breaks the surface with a hard gasp, and hauls her up to the nearest surface. She lies limply across the cold stoned edge of the fountain; unconscious as her soul necklace glistens weakly where it rests.

He pushes himself to the ledge as well, and straddles her, not allowing himself to question it before he goes back to being sixteen and taking first aid classes.

“Stayin’ Alive…” he mutters to himself and he puts one hand over the other in the middle of her chest, “To the rhythm of Stayin’ Alive. Okay, Rach, here goes. _Ha, ha, ha, ha_.” Breath, breath, “ha, ha, ha, ha,” breath, breath, “ha, ha, ha, ha,”

He keeps doing it, each time allowing his hands to press harder and deeper and his breaths longer, fuller, harsher. He’s not quite sure when he’s supposed to give up, but he knows it’s not yet – will it ever be the time, though?

As he pushes his hands into her chest, trying to bring her heart back to life, he keeps his eyes focused on her necklace and the way it’s a pale pink, not yet colorless – lifeless.

He breathes into her twice more, and then, he presses her chest once and suddenly she’s jolting up, coughing up water.

“Oh my god!” he gasps, as he stands over her and watches her blink back to life, struggling to get to her side and cough the rest of the water off her lungs, “Oh my god!”

He scrambles to the side, barely managing to avoid falling over the building, only now realizing he’d brought them to the wrong edge of the fountain – the edge right next to the glass wall that doesn’t exist anymore.

He continues to hyperventilate and stare in complete awe at Rachel as she gasps for breath.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he mutters.

She looks up at him and he can’t help himself as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against his body. She’s shivering and her grasp is feeble but she holds him with just as much emotion, “You’re alive, you’re okay…” he mumbles into her neck and she just nods and buries herself deeper into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling slightly back, sniffing against the tears of relief pouring down his face, “Muggle fucking medicine saving the day!” He can’t help laughing.

“What?” She frowns at him, her voice raspy, barely there.

“I- it’s – in Harry Potter that’s what they- this is completely irrelevant right now.” He cringes and shakes his head and somehow still can’t stop himself from laughing.

She opens her mouth to speak, but then Finn’s voice breaks them out of it. “Kurt!” he calls from the other side of the fountain – Quinn and Puck are covering his back, “Give her here! I’ll get her to safety!” Finn climbs, throwing one leg over the ledge, so he can lean over most of the way. Kurt helps Rachel reach for him, and once he’s sure Finn’s got a good grip on her, he lets her go. She goes easily into her husband’s arms, and he holds her tightly, almost desperately so.

“You need to go see about the witch! She’s still out!” Finn tells him as an afterthought before he turns to leave. Puck follows, Quinn stays relatively close, drawn into a hand to hand combat with some uniformed man – the sounds of gunshots are getting scarcer and scarcer as bullets start running out.

Kurt jolts back into the fight. He turns to look where he’d last seen Isabelle and she’s still there – still unconscious – but Anderson and his wife are nowhere to be seen. He tries to ignore the discomfort it leaves in his stomach as he moves to get to her.

One second he’s placing his knee just right to reach forward, the other he’s thrown back with impact of something strong and painful to his stomach, catching the quickest glimpse of Anderson standing tall, with a gun and a blur of white.

“KURT!” is all he hears, a voice all too familiar, as he falls backwards into nothing – because there’s nothing but the hard ground thousands of feet below to break his fall.

Dying is pretty fucking scary.

-x-

Blaine sprints across the hallways, trying to erase any more thoughts of Cooper of his mind. He doesn’t need to be worried about his brother. If he gets out of the sewage and is killed by a mob in whatever riot must be happening outside, then so be it. Blaine really shouldn’t care. Just like he shouldn’t care that Cooper was alone, which means his mother is probably still somewhere in that hall, caught in the crossfire. Maybe already dead.

No. At this point in time, Blaine needs to focus on sprinting as fast as he can until he’s bursting through the front doors of the castle, because no matter how important and crucial what he’s doing right now is, it’s still not where he wants to be – it’s still not directly and actively protecting Kurt.

He pauses for a second to get his bearings. There are guards holding the gate to the castle, keeping Carmen’s troops outside. They’re not many, but so far they’re managing. Without Isabelle’s protections Blaine’s magic is wild and unrestrained like it hasn’t been in two weeks and he can feel it. He can feel the need to roar.

It doesn’t take much before the guards are restrained against the ground, bound tightly. Some, who manage some sort of angle, shoot at him as they notice the source of their problems, but he sprints easily between them. He raises his hands as he approaches Carmen’s troops on the other side of the castle.

“You’re with me!” he says as the men stop their struggle against the gate to survey Blaine carefully.

The lock on the gate is laced with Stem powder, of course, so Blaine asks all of them to stand back and simply melts the hinges keeping the gate in place. He steps back and let’s them push at them; the gates fall heavily and gloriously to the ground. With a satisfied smile he says, “Go through the back and work your way up – reinforcements should be coming down to contain the mob and you’ll intercept them. And see if you can spare some men to protect the staff houses in the back – there are children there. Excuse me.” He nods and salutes the men before he turns on his heel and sprints the whole way to the castle.

Right by the front steps he slips on innumerous shards of glass and barely manages to break his fall with his hands and forearms. He gasps as the glass drives into his flesh. Tears sting his eyes at the sudden pain, but he pushes himself to his feet and continues on his way to the hall, biting against the sting as he tries to dig out whatever shards are still encrusted in him, and leaving a trail of blood and bloodied glass behind.

He can hear the sounds of chaos as he gets closer. He readies himself for whatever horror he might find, but nothing could have prepared him from what he does see. As he finally turns the last corner he halts just in time to stare right at the figure of Kurt diving backwards into nothing. Time stops.

“KURT!”

Blaine crosses the hall in the fastest sprint of his life, heart in his throat, as he scrambles over and across the fountain and hopes and prays and needs – _oh, thank god!_

Kurt is securely wrapped in the strong vine, white faced and in shock but very much there, very much alive, and Blaine can breathe.

He’s quite possibly smiling as he looks down at his love, but he can’t feel anything beyond the rush of blood and relief through his whole body. The vine brings Kurt back up and he reaches for his hand as soon as he can, pulling him back. Even dripping with water and blood, both of their hands grasp tight and strong. Through all of the adrenaline in his system Blaine barely feels the pain in his hand, as its still coated in red and screaming in protest as anything touches. It makes him a little dizzy but he pushes through it. As soon as Kurt’s back on solid ground, they have their arms around each other, breathlessly gasping words of love and need.

Having Kurt in his arms, alive and holding him back just as strongly, seconds after he’d just seen him topple back into nothing… well, it’s enough to make Blaine forget about anything. The pain, the shouts, the shots, the fight around them.

They should let go of each other. They should go back to reality. They should get out of this ledge. They should just stop pretending they’re the only thing in the whole wide world.

But Blaine’s heart is still beating furiously, still horrified at the thought of losing Kurt like that. And his hands are still shaking, leaving trails of blood as he runs them through Kurt’s hair and gasps “I love you,” over and over again, like it’s trying to make up for all the times it might not have gotten to say it if he’d arrived a split second later.

He has no idea what’s happening in Kurt’s head, but he can feel his entire body shaking in his arms, his hands grasping for Blaine’s drenched clothes, his chest heaving with harsh, deep breaths.

In the end, it’s clear that neither of them could have done anything to prevent the cold metallic touch of a gun’s barrel to Blaine’s scalp.

He doesn’t need to look up to know whose gun it is, and which bullets are in it. Knowing that, though, doesn’t make him any less certain the trigger will be pulled. Two years ago, he would’ve almost welcomed it. Now, as he realizes no shield could possibly keep this from happening, not at this distance, not from this bullet, he can only accept it. Blaine closes his eyes and breathes Kurt in deeper.

The trigger clicks and the bullet doesn’t come.

Blaine gasps, finally looking up. His father looks equally surprised. He pulls the trigger again and again. He’s out of bullets. He’s out of stem bullets and Blaine’s not dead.

The world doesn’t stop spinning, though.

Kurt seems to realize something’s happened just then. Before Blaine can even so much as flinch, there’s a strong blow to his head.

-x-

Blaine collapses into Kurt and he barely manages to keep his balance, as he tries to keep him from falling either into the water or into the deep, deep night.

Above them Anderson is holding a white majestic swan under his arm, and admiring his gun, the one he’d pistol-whipped Isabelle and now Blaine with, and smirking towards Kurt, “Works every time,” he says, before he draws back his arm again and Kurt has a split second to react, miraculously managing to dodge his blow.

_Get him away from Blaine. Get him away from Blaine._

Kurt moves fast but precise as he aims kicks at Anderson’s feet. They don’t hit, obviously, but they’re enough to get him to fall back, so Kurt can stand between him and Blaine’s still unconscious body.

Anderson still looks a little intent on Blaine, and there’s not enough distance between them – there will never be enough distance. Witnessing the ruthless and murderous glint in the man’s eye Kurt’s body wires itself to respond just as dangerously. His movements stop being defensive and get almost recklessly offensive.

Kurt’s bullet wound screams with pain as he delivers blow after blow, but he does his best to ignore it, and each inch that Anderson is forced to retreat is yet more fuel to Kurt’s rage. He grabs the dagger from his belt and tries harder, fiercer. Anderson gasps as its blade cuts into his jaw. An inch below and Kurt would’ve sliced his throat. He readjusts the grip on the dagger and gives him a defiant glare.

They stand there balancing on the edge and staring at each other, waiting for the moment the other makes a move. Kurt seizes the chance when the fucking swan Anderson is holding suddenly starts struggling against the grip and Anderson falters.

Launching into it, between the both of them and the idiotic bird balance isn’t so easy to maintain and Kurt barely manages to make them both fall into the water. Anderson sputters for a moment – struggling against the stupid swan, which Kurt has absolutely zero time or need to figure out what it’s supposed to be for – and so Kurt takes the opportunity to haul himself out of the fountain and reach for the closest gun he can find. He checks for bullets and finds three. He readies it again, hands steady and fast, and turns back to Anderson, realizing in horror that the man didn’t fall for his half-assed plan.

Anderson has hauled himself up to stand on the far edge of the fountain, holding the swan as some sort of shield, smiling smugly, and Kurt realizes why he’s so attached to it.

The swan is Isabelle’s totem.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at each other?” Anderson says, his voice somehow the only thing Kurt hears in this mess of a castle. He jerks his head towards Isabelle where she’s struggling to regain consciousness, trying to crawl away from the mess but falling more than moving. “You think I didn’t hear your little minions fretting over saving her? You think I’m idiot enough not to know what’s happening? You need her. I don’t need to know why – but you do, and this is how it’s going to work – you can kill me, but if you do… her magic goes with me.”

Kurt can see the way he’s ever so slightly inching towards Blaine, and he realizes what’s about to happen.

It’s as if time stops for a moment, and everything comes into focus.

There was never supposed to be a possibility of him going back home, because, as long as that was what he wanted to gain out of this attack, he wasn’t ever going to succeed.

_From the opposite land, the bluebird will return. While only he can bring back the skies that were, only with a pure heart will he take flight once more._

The prophecy did not allow for ulterior motives. No matter how drastically important they were for Kurt – no matter how much he’d dreamed and hoped for them. He was only supposed to want one thing – one thing only, and that was to end this horror once and for all. Even if it meant giving up everything else.

He chances a glance at Blaine, who’s frowning as he slowly regains consciousness.

Or maybe the prophecy meant Blaine – Blaine, the purest heart Kurt had ever known in his life. Maybe he needed Blaine and his faith, his kindness, his love… Maybe it meant that Kurt could never do this without him. Maybe he needed it to live and not just survive. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to ever let him go. Maybe, it was Blaine unknowingly guiding him to his flight – his freedom, his happiness.

Maybe he could walk just fine without Blaine. But _with_ him, he could fly. He could soar.

Here. In this world. He could do that.

Maybe it meant Blaine, maybe it meant Rachel and her desperate search for the chance to dream. Maybe it meant Finn and his absolute devotion to those he loved. Maybe it meant Quinn’s longing for her daughter, and Puck’s tears over a forgotten diaper. Maybe it meant Tina fighting past the pain of losing her magic. Maybe it meant Mike learning to let others protect themselves. Maybe it meant Santana struggling through loss after loss, only to learn to care and love still, again, always. Maybe it meant Will’s dead body in that hallway, so that Kurt could be here, ending the pain of thousands.

Maybe it meant every single person who truly knew what sacrifice was.

Maybe, it really did mean Kurt. In this very moment, with his gun raised and pointed, maybe it means Kurt.

Whatever the prophecy meant, and even if Kurt never comes to fully understand it, or maybe even if it was pure gibberish all along, he now realizes he never really had a choice. Not the one he thought he did, anyway.

As he stands there, facing Anderson, time frozen as everything comes into the clearest light his mind has ever seen, strange as it seems, he’s never felt more at peace with all of it. But mostly he’s never felt better and more relieved to simply surrender completely to what circumstance has given him. To embrace it and know that everything is okay. Everything is perfect, actually.

So, what happens if Kurt doesn’t go?

Well… time to find out.

“ _Or…_ ” Anderson continues, after what feels like hours but was probably a fraction of a second, “You can let me go,” he shrugs as if to illustrate how simple the deal is. “But I’d hurr-”

Kurt shoots the swan first. He pauses for a moment – watches as comprehension dawns over Anderson’s face, but doesn’t give him any time to feel anything else besides the overwhelming knowledge that he’s about to die. The second shot hits Anderson square in the heart. He topples back, and in the blink of an eye, it’s almost as if he’d never been there.


	23. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: Character deaths/mentions of them; mentions of suicidal thoughts/tendencies; graphic descriptions of blood

**Healing**

Everything stops. For a moment, all that Kurt can see is the empty space where John Anderson had been standing. Around him, he knows that more and more people are realizing what just happened. The sounds of combat and shooting are stopping, until all you can hear is the crowd outside – still fighting, still screaming, completely unaware that the man of their nightmares has fallen to his death. If it wasn’t for that, time would’ve stood still.

Reality comes back into focus as a gunshot sounds and something collapses right next to Kurt and he startles. A dead uniformed official fallen to the ground, with a knife in his hand, fresh blood starting to pool around his head. Kurt looks around, Quinn is standing shakily on her feet, gun still trained in their general direction. Around them, it starts again, on one side people looking to avenge the fallen man, maybe even kill for the opportunity of taking his place, on the other people looking to _completely_ wipe out an entire dictatorship.

Kurt, however, can’t do much beside stand there and look around at the spectacle of it all. He feels as the gun slips from his hand and his legs finally give out. Pain shoots up his knees as he collapses against the hard marble floor, but he barely registers it.

He takes three deep breaths before he can make himself look at Blaine.

He’s still sprawled on the edge of the fountain, but he’s wide-awake, his eyes trained outside, down to where his father’s body had dropped. Kurt can’t make out the expression on his face, and he’s not quite sure he wants to.

He stays where he is, completely paralyzed with the realization that he’s killed John Anderson. He killed the man who had his parents assassinated. He killed the man who drove his mother into a different world. He killed the man who’s terrorized a whole country. He killed the man responsible for thousands of deaths and inestimable suffering.

He killed Blaine’s father.

Around him, there’s a sudden burst of noise. If he bothered to look, he’d see Carmen’s troops bursting through the doors and making everything that much easier and faster. If he bothered to look, he’d see Sebastian and Elliot draping a large blue flag to signal to the world outside that the fighting was over. If he bothered to look, he’d see sighs of relief, exhausted laughs and tears of joy.

Instead, somehow without knowing when he started, he finds himself crawling. Clumsily and desperately making his way toward Blaine, incapable of caring about anything else. He throws himself over into the fountain, lets his body sink down for a moment before he pushes himself back to the surface and gasps as he hoists himself back onto the edge. There’s red fading amidst the water. He clutches his stomach, searing pain reminding him of the bullet wound.

He clamps a hand over it and pushes himself to ignore it a little longer.

“Blaine,” he gasps. He reaches a trembling hand towards him but doesn’t quite manage to close the distance, “Blaine…” His fingers shake as he settles them over the white marble, inches away from where it’s stained red with the blood coating and pouring down Blaine’s hands and arms, deeps cuts and gashes angry and possibly dangerous.

It’s a while before Blaine finally looks up, drawing up a fast, shuddering breath, as if waking up from a bad dream.

“Kurt!” he gasps after two seconds of confused staring, “Kurt! I- you- _Kurt!_ ” He scrambles on his hands and knees, probably hurting himself on the way to Kurt, throwing his bloodied arms around his neck and breaking down into sobs.

Kurt doesn’t know if he’s feeling relief, or pain, or both, but he cradles him through whatever it is. “I’m here, I’m here…” he whispers soothingly, “I’m always going to be here.”

“Kurt!” is all that Blaine can say in return, so Kurt continues to hold the back of his head, keeping him safe against his chest.

“I’m always going to be here, Blaine. Always.”

Blaine swallows thickly as he pulls back, tears drenching his face as he shakes his head. “No…” he says, face twisting in a sad smile, “You can go home, Kurt. You can.”

“Blaine,” Kurt frowns, “I killed Isabelle’s totem, you saw me do it… even if I wanted, I couldn’t.”

“No…” Blaine shakes his head softly – the movement eliciting a fresh tear to drop from his lashes, “I… I can get you home –Cat can. I-I-I… It was me – it was _because_ of me that you came back, Kurt. I was- I was lost without you and _Cat_ brought you back to save me – and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I wasn’t sure and now I am, it was Cat. It was never Isabelle or me, it was our totems, and I swear – I can take you home – _Cat_ can take you home.” The information is surprising, to say the least, but it changes nothing.

“Blaine,” Kurt cradles Blaine’s face between his hands, he spreads his thumbs over the tear soaked skin, dries it as best as possible, even if only for that one moment before new tears spill over. “Listen to me. Even if I _wanted_ … which I don’t.”

Blaine frowns, “ _Kurt_.”

“I’m staying _here_.”

There’s disbelief and apprehension in Blaine’s eyes as he stares back, “Kurt, I… Kurt, please, I just – don’t do… I…”

“Blaine, I _want_ this.”

“Are you- I don’t want you to… I just… I want- I _need_ you to be happy, Kurt-”

“I’m happy right here, right _now_.” Somehow he is. Somehow, in this moment, even with all the blood and the death around him, even then, he’s happy.

Blaine looks at him as if those words are both a miracle and incomprehensible. Blaine’s heart wants him to accept it as a blessed gift, Blaine’s mind reminds him of the months of Kurt resolutely and irreversibly needing to go back home. The struggle is plain as day, and Kurt wishes there was something he could do to make Blaine’s heart stand victorious.

He watches as Blaine’s blood coated hand splays over his heart, grasping for something that’s not there, and Kurt doesn’t think. He yanks both necklaces off his own neck and grabs Blaine’s hands, dropping them into his palms and clasping his own hands around Blaine’s. “My heart is yours,” he says, fiercer than he’s ever said anything before.

Blaine startles, looking up to Kurt with wide, baffled eyes. “Kurt…?!”

“That’s- that’s how you do it, right? Those are the words? So, huh, ny heart is yours,” Kurt repeats, finding himself smiling wider and wider like he didn’t think it was possible just minutes ago, “My heart is yours, Blaine. It’s _yours_. As long as you want it, you can have it.”

“Kurt…. I… Kurt!”

“Do you want it?”

Blaine stutters. He opens his mouth and no sounds come out. He’s so completely overwhelmed, like he’s forgotten how to speak altogether. Finally, Kurt leans in to brush their noses together, Blaine fumbles over sounds and words and manages, “I – Yes! – I – of _course_.”

“So, it’s yours.” Kurt shrugs easily, “Can I have yours…? Maybe?”

Blaine only stares. For a moment, he only stares. And then he breathes, and swallows and opens his mouth. “ _Kurt_ ,” he gasps, “Yes. Yes… You can have- of course you – My heart’s been yours from the moment you attacked me to save a little girl,” he mutters with a chuckle that seems so overwhelmingly happy. “ _My heart is yours_.”

There’s a red glow coming from their hands between them and it shines bright and warm, but Kurt can’t look anywhere besides Blaine’s eyes, bright and wet and so, so beautiful in their complete and utter vulnerability – every single part of his soul bare and raw for Kurt to take and cradle and nurse with gentle, patient, unconditional love. Kurt’s never felt more sure of anything in his life, Kurt’s never felt more love in his life – giving and receiving. He imagines Blaine is feeling and thinking the exact same things. As the light grows stronger Kurt is enveloped in a sensation like no other in his entire life. He feels warm, and whole, and holy – all over. It feels like magic. It’s the best feeling in the world, and in that moment all he can think about is how utterly much he loves Blaine and how he wants to be with him – _forever_. He leans forward just as Blaine does and they lose themselves in each other, in a kiss made purely out of belonging. Of home. Of love.

The bright glow in their hands is enough to bathe the whole room in it, and doesn’t fade until they break apart, untangling their hands so they can grab and feel each other, just to make sure that the moment’s real. Even though reality is crashing back in, Kurt can feel himself slipping into laughter, miraculous, unbelievable joy coursing through his veins, as he takes Blaine’s newly red-diamonded necklace to put it back around his neck. His hands are shaking so much it’s a miracle he doesn’t drop and lose it in the process. He then leans over so that Blaine can do the same and all but collapses back into his embrace.

When arms wrap tightly around his waist, though, he can’t help wincing. Blaine pulls back immediately, horror spreading across his features as he notices the dark wetness staining Kurt’s stomach, “You’re hurt!”

“I…” Kurt frowns, looking down at his injury, maybe for the first time. The sight of the bloodstain makes his head a little light. “I guess… I just… I forgot.”

“You for- Kurt, you’re _white_!” he gasps, as he starts to frantically search the crowd. “Mercedes?! Joe?! Emma?!” he calls.

“Blaine, just… help me get to the other side,” Kurt says, holding on to his arm as things start to get a little hazy, still stupidly queasy from looking at it. He’s been running on adrenaline for so long, that it’s really only hitting him now that he’s got a bullet in him. He barely even registers as, indeed, there are strong arms around him and he’s slowly guided into the water before hoisted back out – several hands grab at him, and pull him to the floor. Quinn and Mike and Puck are there, and suddenly he’s hoisted up into Puck’s arms and carried at a sprint.

Before he knows it, he’s in the middle of a corridor and Mercedes is rushing towards him, her sleeves pulled back, blood smeared on her face, clothes and hands. His black shirt is pushed up to his chest, revealing a tiny whole on his stomach, but so much angry red around it.

A hand slips into his as another cradles his cheek softly, guiding his face away from the wound and the hands already pressing into it. He finds himself looking at Blaine’s gentle smile. There’s slick, warm wetness against his skin and he remembers the deep gashes across Blaine’s hands and arms.

“You… huh, you… blood, too.”

Blaine nods patiently, “Yes, Mercedes can take care of that, jus as soon as she takes care of you, okay?”

“I… You’ll be okay?”

“Of course. I promise.” Blaine kisses his forehead, “But right now, it’s your turn to sing, love.”

Kurt can’t help a chuckle at that before he nods and goes for it, and oh god, does it really fucking hurt. He finally gets all the screaming, crying, passing out that Blaine did that first night, because it really, undeniably fucking hurts like there’s a scorching knife digging into his flesh, again and again, throbbing in time with his heartbeats and he feels every part of it as he’s never felt physical pain in his life. He’s not sure if he’s singing or not, but he must be, because there’s light somewhere around him, and Blaine smiling and nodding, letting Kurt crush the bones in his hand into dust.

-x-

He wakes up slowly. He doesn’t open his eyes – instead, he lets consciousness wash over him. There are fingers carding through his hair, and he can’t help leaning into the touch. When he breathes in, the scent is familiar and wonderful.

“Blaine?”

There’s a chuckle. “No,” Rachel’s voice says and he opens his eyes to find her smiling down at him, his head gently resting on her lap, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

He sits up slowly. His stomach is beyond sore, but as he blinks his eyes open and shakes his head, he finds himself otherwise okay. He’s in a strange bedroom – it looks rich, but barren. The chaos that had been surrounding him completely gone, leaving him a little disoriented and startled by the quiet. After all of it, silence just feels ominous and not peaceful.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the red diamond on the necklace, by the way,” she says softly, bringing him back to the moment.

He opens his mouth to comment, finds he doesn’t really have anything to say about that beyond _I love him_ , so instead he asks, “How long have I been out?”

_How much time has gone by without me noticing? How many things happened? How much has changed?_

“An hour? Maybe less…”

“And- and things are okay?” He scrambles to his feet. Blood, arms and hands covered in blood. “Is… I… Where is Blaine? Is he- Where is Blaine?!”

“It’s the aftermath, now. It’s calm – but it’s not pretty. Blaine had to go – they were asking his help to identify some bodies, you know?”

“Oh…” He breathes. Relief letting his heart beat again, the image of Blaine’s wounds finally disappearing. Kurt’s body is having a hard time adjusting to it, though. It seems so strange, this thought that it’s over. It’s finally over. They won, and there’s no more fight left. And he’s alive, Blaine’s alive, Rachel’s alive… The war is won, and the good guys did it. Things are okay. Things are truly okay. Aren’t they?

Why is Kurt having a hard time believing it? It just feels so surreal. What comes now? He’d never thought about that – he didn’t think he’d be here for that. For the cleaning up – for mopping up blood and burying bodies.

Blaine’s already doing that, apparently – that’s why he’s not with Kurt, it’s because he’s out there immersed in a mess of blood, and _death_.

He frowns, dread and heaviness settling back into his stomach. “He shouldn’t… Rachel, he shouldn’t be doing that…” As the haziness in his mind clears, frustration takes its place. She looks confused and Kurt cannot believe that he has to remind her, “Rachel… His father is dead.”

“Yes, but-”

“His _father_ is dead,” he repeats and stares at her until she looks like she might be getting his point. “Maybe his mother too, and his brother. It doesn’t matter if he hated them. The people he grew up calling a family could all be dead. The people he had to teach himself to stop loving, to stop wanting them, and to see _all_ of their flaws instead of whatever good might miraculously exist in them… they could all be dead. And you ask him to go around identifying dead bodies? Are you people insane…?”

“Kurt, I-”

He shakes his hand and pushes himself to his feet, it hurts but it’s bearable. “I’m going to go find him.”

“Kurt, you shouldn’t go out there this soon,” Rachel calls after him, limping slightly as she follows him out the room, “You could still get hurt.”

“Rachel,” he says, barely managing to soften his voice. He puts his hand over his necklace and says, “I’m going to go find my _husband_.” The word is foreign on his tongue, but it also leaves him feeling warm and safe.

She falters for a moment before she says, “I’ll go with you.” Kurt almost tells her not to bother, but ultimately, he just nods and starts back out the room, “Where are we anyway?”

“I think this was Blaine’s bedroom, actually,” she says, and Kurt can’t help stopping for a moment, hand already pulling the door open, and taking it in. It looks so… impersonal. Nothing like the bedroom Kurt’s gotten used to, with its overfilled shelves, and the piles of things on a desk, a sort of organized chaos Blaine must’ve made sense of because he always knew where to find something. It’s not that Blaine’s bedroom at the Inn was messy, not at all – but it had things, it had life. This one is just empty. A big bed with drapes around it. A fancy desk, and an intimidating wardrobe. But nothing else. It stings him to find it so fitting to what Blaine had told him about his childhood.

The scent, though, the scent is Blaine’s and that makes it a little better.

“Let’s go,” he says.

“They wanted him at the ballroom, so he should probably still be there. He only left like ten minutes ago. Mercedes had to take care of some cuts in his arms.”

They walk in silence. Somewhere along the way, Rachel reaches tentatively for his hand and he can’t help feeling a little guilty. He takes her hand and squeezes gently. She looks over to him and they exchange a smile, so he pulls her closer until their shoulders brush. _This girl almost died, today,_ he thinks to himself, _this force of nature almost died._

The thought leaves him a little breathless.

He clutches his sore stomach, and she limps. They cross corridor after corridor of chaos. There are bodies still lying, unconscious or dead, waiting for someone to come figure out what to do with them. Kurt realizes now – it’s not over yet. Things aren’t okay, yet.

That’s what movies don’t show you. After the battle is won, it still hurts. There are wounds in your body, there are dead people around you. And you get five minutes of rest before you have to clean it all up and somehow go back to living. ~~~~

They reach the great hall to find it still as crowded and messy as when they had left it. Only it’s a different kind of mess, now. It’s people calling for other people across the room. “I found him!” one informs, and “This one’s dead too!” another says.

Kurt scans the room but he doesn’t find Blaine. He stops the first familiar face he can find, “Where’s Blaine?”

Puck frowns, “He’s not with you?”

“Obviously not.”

“I thought he’d be with you,” Puck insists, clearly not thinking of any other alternative. “When he got here, he went all pale and stuff and, seriously dude, he looked like he was about to faint, so we just told him to go, that we could handle it. I thought he’d gone back to you.” When Kurt and Rachel shake their heads he swallows and frowns deeper. He shifts a little uncomfortably, looking possibly the most worried Kurt’s ever seen him look. “Dude, he looked really messed up… I don’t… I don’t think he should be alone.”

Kurt doesn’t think before he’s walking back down the corridor, following the trail of people who might be able to tell him something.

“Blaine?” Wes from the Dalton cell says as he supports a nearly unconscious boy, “I saw him going that way.” He sticks his thumb backwards, “Why?”

“Never mind,” Kurt says, continues jogging as fast as his stupid, hurting body allows him to. Behind him, he can hear Rachel struggling to follow.

Another boy Kurt barely recognizes from the Dalton cell directs him closer to the front door to the castle, and Kurt knows exactly where to go.

The air of the night is harshly cold as he makes his way outside, taking the stairs to the front of the castle two at a time.

Rachel calls after him, breathless. “Kurt! Just slow-” she stops as they cross the doors and finally see him a dozen yards away.

Blaine stands, body trembling as he looks down at his father’s corpse. He’s saying something, but between the distance, the chaos of a roaring crowd outside the castle, and the wind, it’s impossible to make out what.

Kurt takes a moment to breathe deep and unclench some of his nerves. He barely even notices when Rachel reaches out to touch his elbow softly, and turns back towards the castle. He hesitates for a moment before he starts walking.

“I hate you.” Blaine’s voice reaches him, carried by a sudden gush of wind and Kurt stops. Maybe he should just let him be. Maybe this is something that should happen. A last confrontation, that isn’t a confrontation at all. He can’t make himself walk away either, so instead, he sits down, listens and waits it out.

“I hate you,” Blaine repeats, anger lacing his voice like Kurt’s never heard it, “I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t feel _anything_ for you. I wish I could be like you, indifferent. But I can’t, and I just hate you.”

Blaine wraps his arms around himself, unwraps and wraps again. In the moonlight and the flicker of lights from the castle, Kurt makes out the crisscross of healed scars over his arms and hands, and another piece of worry detaches itself from Kurt’s heart, making it that bit much lighter.

Blaine clutches at his hair from a moment and groans with frustration, “And I bet – I just bet that you love it. Don’t you? You love how fucked up you made me. I bet you made it a sport – your favorite one. How much can I fuck Blaine up?

“I hope you’re real proud of yourself, because, guess what, you don’t get to win. Oh, I thought you would. I really did. I always thought you’d win. I thought one day after all of this was over and people were safe from you, I’d finally get to do it. To put a gun to my mouth and stop existing. Stop being your son. You’d still win then, even from the grave, you’d win! But I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t care about anything, because I’d just be dead, and dead people don’t feel.”

He laughs. Insane, frantic, scared. He cries.

Kurt holds his knees to his chest, and stops himself from running away and burying his head in something that’ll make all of those words go away. That’ll make the image of a gun in Blaine’s mouth go away. But he forces himself to stay, because the scars on Blaine’s arms are healed, there’s no more blood pouring out, no more life slowly leaving him, accidental or otherwise, and he’s using the past tense. Kurt stays because he knows there’s more to it – there’s Blaine’s freedom. Finally.

“But you’re not getting that anymore. You’re not. I’m not your son anymore. I’m so much more than that and you don’t get to touch me again. Ever! You’re dead! DEAD! Finished, and I’m here, I’m still here, and I _want_ to be! I have a life. I have a life outside of your shadow! I don’t care if I have to claw my way out of it each time someone meets me for the first time. It’s going to be worth it because now I know what it feels like – forgetting about you. Feeling like _myself_.

“And it’s fucking great! I can be happy – I know that now, and you’ll never get to take that away from me. I have a family – a family that loves me and I love back. A family that has something much, much thicker than blood uniting us. And I have love. I have so much love that you’d never understand. I have _everything_.”

Blaine pauses, his breathing labored and heavy. Kurt wants to hold him.

“I have everything,” Blaine repeats, his voice thick, and shaky, “And you have _nothing_.” He spits at John Anderson, “So,” he says very slowly, each word spelled out deliberately with as much anger and disdain as can be in a single person, “ _I win_.”

Kurt pushes himself to his feet, body trembling a bit as he still can’t make himself move.

“Did you get that?!” Blaine screams, the loudest Kurt’s ever heard him. “I win! I win! I win! I win! I win! I win!” He screams himself hoarse and Kurt is frozen to the spot until a sudden burst of flames envelops Anderson’s body, and startles him back into the need to help Blaine.

Within seconds, he finds himself holding Blaine tightly in his arms. Blaine struggles, screaming and crying like he’s got a nuclear explosion happening inside of him. That the entire castle doesn’t burn is a miracle. Kurt has no idea how long he stands there, holding Blaine against himself, letting him struggle and fight and yell, but giving him the comfort of a safe place to do so.

Finally, though, after what feels like hours, Blaine’s voice gives out and he just crumples. Kurt follows his movement, until he’s sitting on cold grass while Blaine curls into him, sobbing into his neck and clinging to his arms.

There’s nothing but black, scorched earth where the body used to be, but the heat is still there. Kurt closes his eyes and buries his fingers into Blaine’s hair.

He doesn’t know why he does it. Still, before he can stop himself he opens his mouth and sings softly.

“ _Blackbird singing in the dead of night… take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arise_.”

Blaine cries a little harder.

“ _Blackbird singing in the dead of night… take these sunken eyes and learn to see, all your life, you were only wanting for this moment to be free._

 _Blackbird, fly, fly_.”

Blaine holds on closer.

Kurt waits until Blaine’s body stops shaking and his breaths become deeper and easier. He scratches the back of Blaine’s neck, tenderly nuzzles his hair for a moment, before he picks him up into his arms. Every muscle in Kurt’s body screams in protest but he ignores it. In a haze of half sleep, Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s neck and buries his face in the crook of his neck.

Once he gets them back to Blaine’s old bedroom, he puts Blaine down and crawls right next to him, pressing their bodies from toe to head, resting his forehead against the back of Blaine’s neck, and splaying his hand against his chest, heartbeat thumping smooth and easy against it.

He’s surprised when Blaine’s hand comes to entwine their fingers together and pull Kurt a little tighter around himself.

“My heart is yours,” Blaine mutters, his voice barely audible.

Kurt nods and kisses the skin closest to his lips.

They fall asleep just as the first rays of the morning crack though the skyline of a new city.

-x-

Kurt wakes up to soft fingertips trailing lines across his cheeks, his eyelids, his nose, his lips. He blinks his eyes open to find Blaine staring back.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Blaine smiles back. He doesn’t look completely happy, or rested. But he looks somewhat peaceful. His cheeks are rosy, and he looks healthy. Kurt reaches up to take his hand and hold it.

One of them, maybe both of them, lean in and they share a slow, soft kiss.

Blaine pulls back with his eyes still closed, breathing deep. When he looks back at Kurt, he says, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. That’s certainly not what he was expecting Blaine to say.

Blaine smiles again as he pushes himself to sit, and Kurt notices he’s already changed into clean clothes. There’s a neat little pile of folded pants and a shirt, and Kurt can’t decide if he’s more confused or relieved that one of them thought of that.

“Those may be a tight fit. I wasn’t exactly the biggest teenager ever…”

Kurt can’t stop himself from laughing and Blaine does too. It’s a little surreal, but so, so nice.

Blaine helps him peel away his own black clothes. There’s dry blood making it stick to his skin, Kurt’s never felt more disgusting in his life. “If you want you can shower,” Blaine says, apparently reading his mind, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“I just can’t-”

“I won’t go anywhere.” Blaine nods knowingly, “I’ll be right here.”

Kurt nods and smiles. He takes the clothes with him. The spray of warm water feels like heaven on his skin. As he rubs himself clean, he notices his stomach is barely sore anymore and he looks to find the tiniest hint of a scar right below his last rib, on the left side.

He scratches a nail over it, but forces himself to let it be.

He doesn’t linger in the shower, even though it feels like it’s literally bringing him back to life. He wants to go back to Blaine as soon as possible, and take his hand back into his own, and never let him out of his sight again. Two weeks of fear, longing and anticipation catching up to him. A night of horror catching up to him.

When he returns, Blaine is sitting exactly where he left him, as promised. He extends an apple to Kurt with a gentle smile. Kurt takes it, realizing exactly how hungry he is, and falls in love with Blaine all over again.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” he murmurs.

Blaine smile spreads wider, fiercer. He touches his fingers to his necklace and says, “Well, you have our entire lives to do it,” he blushes and then adds, “Let me show you something.” He reaches for Kurt’s hand and then guides it Kurt’s soul necklace, while he keeps touching his own. Immediately the feeling that had enveloped Kurt the night before, that perfect cocoon of love and belonging, it returns. Not quite as strong or overwhelming, but enough to make him feel just as safe as then.

He gasps and Blaine laughs a little, ducking close to kiss him.

“This… happens…?”

“Every time we touch or necklaces at the same time.” Blaine nods, letting go of his necklace only to hold Kurt’s face between both his hands and pull him in again.

“So…” Kurt breathes, a little overwhelmed, “There was this person you wanted me to meet.”

Blaine offers him a hand, which Kurt takes and guides them silently out of the bedroom and through endless corridors of the maze-like castle. They go down flights and flights of stairs, they cross a large, sunlit kitchen, they step out into the chilly afternoon of an early spring day.

There’s a row of small wooden houses up ahead. They’re miraculously untouched by the destruction of the previous night, but Kurt’s sure it’s not exactly dumb luck they were spared when everywhere else, there’s only dirt, blood and chaos.

They walk up to the one on the far left, and Blaine knocks gently on the door, a sort of familiar knock that someone might use to verify identities.

The door swings open in a matter of seconds and a tall, large woman with white hair and an anxious face immediately pulls Blaine into her arms, “Oh thank god, you’re okay!”

Blaine hugs the woman back and Kurt thinks he can guess who she is. Blaine’s closest thing to a mother, Milly Rose.

He lets them have their moment, waiting patiently and using the time to wonder if he’s also going to meet Marley.

When the embrace ends, Blaine clears his throat, visibly pulling himself back to reality before turning to introduce Kurt, “Milly, this is Kurt.”

She gasps as she looks at him, but she seems to recover very well, her red cheeks the only thing truly giving her away, “Your majesty!”

“Oh, no!” Kurt gasps. “No, no, no! I’m Kurt. _Just Kurt_.”

“Oh, huh…”

“And it’s very nice to meet you,” he adds. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

She seems startled at that, and Blaine lets out the first genuine chuckle in a long time. “Do you think we could go inside?” he teases softly.

She practically trips over herself as she ushers them inside. Kurt frowns as Blaine goes straight towards a bed, bending over to mess with the pillows. It’s only when he turns back around that Kurt realizes he’s cradling a tiny, tiny baby in his arms. He feels his own jaw dropping, as Blaine glances between him and the baby, the happiest, most genuine smile spreading over his features.

“I wanted you to meet the most perfect girl in all of the _worlds_ ,” Blaine says, his voice soft and calm as the baby stirs in her sleep but doesn’t wake up.

“Oh…!” Kurt breathes, some pieces of the puzzle fitting into place. He walks over to get a closer look. She’s adorable, with her tiny nose, her tiny lips, and her tiny hands. He can’t help beaming and cooing. She makes a little adorable noise but still doesn’t open her eyes. Kurt glances up at Blaine to find him completely lost and immersed in the girl in his arms. He looks at her like a father would look at his child, and while Kurt doesn’t know exactly what to feel about that, he can’t help find it one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“What’s her name?” he asks, turning back to Milly, who is watching them with a curious expression.

“Oh!” She looks genuinely taken aback by the question.

Next to Kurt, Blaine looks up, “Have you thought about it? Did Marley ever say anything about what name she wanted to give her?”

Milly chuckles a little sadly. “Well, Marley was absolutely sure it would be a boy. And she wanted his name to be Blaine.”

“Oh!” Blaine breathes, his smile slipping a little and yet another puzzle piece slips into place.

The two of them share a long bittersweet smile as Kurt bites himself to keep from asking anything. It’s not like he needs to. The baby is Marley’s and Marley is dead.

“Well, I.. huh, I don’t…” Blaine frowns, chuckling a little sadly. “I’m not sure Blaine would be a good fit as it is.”

Milly nods, stepping closer and squeezing his shoulder, “I’ll admit, I don’t think it suits her either.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a long time before he says anything, the effort to speak visible, “The truth is… I just… I’ll admit… it would feel so easy and so right to call her Marley, or Kitty… but… those are big shoes to fill, you know? I don’t… I don’t think kids are supposed to grow up in shadows, even if they’re as beautiful as Marley’s was. I think they should get to be everything they were meant to be, anything they want to be… no strings attached.”

He doesn’t look at Milly for a few moments, but when Kurt wraps an arm around his waist and squeezes comfortingly, he bites his lip and glances up.

“Blaine,” she sighs, her expression filled with kind love and sadness at the same time, “I keep forgetting that beneath that young face of yours, there’s an old soul.”

Blaine ducks his head and Kurt’s heart tightens a little at the reminder of all they’ve been through.

“What about Ava?” Kurt suggests. “It means _like a bird_ , and… well, from what I gather, birds are a big deal around here.” Kurt bumps his shoulder gently against Blaine’s, coaxing him to look up and at least smile at his silly joke, “And she gets to be as free as any other bird flying up high in the sky.”

Blaine meets his eyes, lips parted with a small gush of breath.

“I love it,” Milly says, her eyes on the small girl, “ _Ava_.”

Blaine looks at the baby for a moment before a wonderful smile graces his expression. “Ava Rose,” he nods, turning back to the sleeping beauty in his arms, voice filled with love and tenderness. “Hello, Ava.”

Kurt kisses his cheek and his lips, and his eyes when they flutter closed. “Can I hold her?”

-x-

Responsibilities skirted for too long, Kurt and Blaine find themselves ushered into a large room, with a large table. Sue Sylvester is sitting at one end of the table, several other people taking seats. As she sees them, she nods in greeting and points at the other end of the table.

“Who are these people?” Kurt asks in a whisper.

“The leaders for all Resistance cells – there’s two for each one.” Besides Sue, Kurt can only recognize Wes and David from Dalton, and, somewhere in the middle of the table, looking equal parts nervous and professional, Quinn. With a punch to his gut, Kurt understands that she’s replacing Will and accompanying Blaine as the co-leader of their own cell. Because Will is dead. Kurt wonders who else?

He has a sudden need to dash off that room and go one by one, making sure that everyone else is okay. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek and lets himself be lead to the place reserved for him.

“I appreciate that everyone’s been through a lot, but there’s too much work to be done,” Sue starts without prompting or warning. “We have a whole country to rebuild from the ground up, and, especially since our crown prince is not planning on staying or-”

“I am,” Kurt interrupts, mouth working faster than his brain. “Staying, I mean. I’m staying.”

There’s a rush of murmurs around the room, everyone clearly surprised. He glances at Quinn, who’s looking back at him with a smile she seems to be trying to keep small. He smiles back, just as Blaine’s hand finds his under the table.

“Oh. Well.” Sue shakes her head and clears her throat, “That changes some things. Are you going to accept the crown?”

“Oh…” Kurt can’t help the stutter in his heart as well as his voice. Well. It’s not like he’ll ever stop feeling the responsibility – the need to make sure things get better. “I… I haven’t really thought about that… but… I- well, I think so…?”

“You think so?”

“It’s just that… well, I know I can’t do this alone – there’s a lot I just… simply don’t know. But if it’s a step in the right the direction, if it’ll help re-establish peace, and if it’ll give people hope, I would be honored.”

“You’re not going to be alone, son,” a man says, from where he’s sitting at Sue’s right. He’s intimidating in size, but his eyes are soft and kind.

“Oh, huh, thank you, Mister…?”

“Beiste,” the man smiles. “No one would ever expect you at your age, or in your situation to go at it alone. Heck, no one expects anyone to go at it alone. You may be the one wearing the crown, but we’re all going to be helping you carry it.”

“Oh,… okay.” He nods, feeling a little overwhelmed with the idea of an actual honest to god crown on his head.

“Kurt,” Blaine mutters next to him, “Are you sure? I mean…”

“I… I think I am.”

“You think you are?”

Kurt’s face feels like it’s on fire, but he steals himself and squares his shoulders. “I am. I’m sure.”

Blaine searches his eyes for something but after a minute he finally relents, nodding and leaning ever so close as he turns back to everyone else. Sue’s already continued on a fast spiel of everything urgent, and everything important but not so urgent. There’s a lot to be done, obviously, starting from Kurt’s crowning ceremony, thinking about what to do with all the prisoner’s in the camps, to deciding whether to put every single guard on trial – and everything in-between.

Thankfully, Kurt seems to be the only one completely lost and overwhelmed, so there’s a lot of progress, each person volunteering to work on this or work on that, and designing teams and taskforces already. It’s equal parts mesmerizing and scary, and Kurt’s once again confronted with the reality that the hard part is most definitely not over.

It’s been hours upon hours when the meeting is drawn to a close. No one expects it to be the last one, though, not by a long shot. They leave the topics of the funerals for last, and Kurt is asked if he would perform the ceremony. He declines with a tight chest – he wouldn’t know the first thing about it, and he wouldn’t know what to say.

He does ask, though, for a private meeting between him and Queen Carmen to be arranged as soon as possible, so he can know the best way to honor the men from her kingdom that may have fallen amidst the fight.

From that alone, it becomes clear what his part is for now. He’s not supposed to know how to rebuild the kingdom, he’s not supposed to have the answers or the ability for that. He’s just supposed to reach out to people, to tell them that it’ll be alright and that it’s okay to hope for a brighter future. His job is to keep a steady smile on his face, a straight back, and a hand ready to hold others.

It doesn’t feel like a small, meaningless task at all. It feels like something he can do – and most of all, it feels like something absolutely necessary outside of that intimidating room.

-x-

He keeps his movement soft; even so, the knock sounds overbearingly loud in the dark empty corridor.

“Yes?” Her voice sounds tired.

Kurt pushes the door open just enough to be able to look into the room. These are, apparently, her old chambers, but she still looks entirely out of place, perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, surveying every bookcase and surface, most of it covered in a thick layer of dust.

“Isabelle…?” he asks, unsure.

She finally turns to look at him. Her face is gaunt and her eyes a little lifeless, but she still smiles at the sight of him.

“I’m told your name is Kurt,” she says.

He wishes he’d thought of finding something a little better to wear, or fix his hair. He looks absolutely disheveled with sweat stains and floppy hair from the hard work around the castle. He’d kept hoping to see her there, to talk to her there, amidst floors that needed scrubbing, or destroyed walls that needed fixing. Instead she wouldn’t show and he couldn’t wait any longer to meet his, quite possibly, last blood relative alive. He has no idea what he’s feeling at the moment, but nervous is definitely one of them. What if she hates him for what he did to her magic?

“I’m sorry I killed your totem,” he replies, because he has no idea what else he should say to her.

She closes her eyes for a moment, her smile slipping before it forces itself back up, “That’s alright. Sometimes I wish someone would’ve done that a long time ago.”

“Blaine told me they were keeping your family hostage. Are they alright?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, sounding surprised at her own words. “I’m scared they will be ashamed of me. I’m scared they will hate me for what I’ve done. So… here I am. Paralyzed by fear and shame, incapable of going to find the family my actions meant to keep alive.”

He falters for a moment. Before he can help himself he moves and sits next to her. “Anger and shame do not disqualify love, Isabelle. Even if that’s how they feel about you, which I doubt it is, they still love you, I’m sure.”

She’s gives him a fond, condescending look. “You’re young.”

Kurt wants to laugh at that. “No,” he shakes his head. “I’ve spent the last months angry at my mother for lying to me my whole life. I still am, sometimes. But I would give anything to have her hold me again and not be dead.”

Isabelle startles at the mention of Kurt’s mother, her sister. “Elizabeth…! She’s…?”

“She died ten years ago,” Kurt tells her, “I was eight.”

“Oh…” her eyes become too bright.

“She was your sister, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“I…”

“You must have a lot of questions,” Isabelle smiles sadly. “About her, about your father… We… we were all very close, he and I... he was my best friend,… I was absolutely distraught and…. I just – I guess what I’m trying to say is that I loved them both very much and their losses are huge holes in my heart, but you shouldn’t be afraid to ask me about them. I know how much they loved you, even when you were just an idea… I’ll be very glad to tell you all about them.”

“I do want you to tell me about them… but right now… I actually… I don’t know, I just really wanted to know you…” He shrugs and gives her a small smile, “We’re family after all.”

She holds her breath for a moment before she stands and walks over, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his hair, “I have wanted to meet you for eighteen years now, Kurt. I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

He hugs her back, tries not to cling too much, because she feels so frail in his arms. For some reason there’s a burn in his eyes and tightness in his throat. He pulls back with a shuddering breath and slides his hands to hers.

“I’m glad, too,” he says.

She eyes him for a moment, there’s love, fondness, pride – the kind of emotions that come with family and Kurt wants to curl up in that like it’s his favorite blanket.

When her eyes drop a tiny bit more and land on Kurt’s necklace she lets out a startled laugh, and he can’t help blushing.

-x-

Parts of the castle have been turned into rubble, and other parts are still bearing the marks of battle, even as the dead have all been taken away, and the blood has been scraped off the floors. Between that and the thought that everyone should get to see it, Kurt is adamant that the crowning ceremony take place outside, on the front steps of the castle while as many as can fit through the open gates crowd watch.

He hopes no one but the people closest to him can see the way his hands are shaking as he accepts the crown from Isabelle’s hands and places it atop his head. It doesn’t feel heavy or uncomfortable, surprisingly. It feels like any other headpiece he’s ever worn.

It’s just a symbol, after all. A symbol for a duty and a responsibility he had already taken on a long time ago. He lets himself smile.

He finds Blaine’s eyes, as he stands inconspicuous amidst the front rows of the crowd. Blaine gives him a bright, encouraging grin as his hand cards through Cat’s fur, letting her rest peacefully, and maybe even a little comically on his shoulder. It does make Kurt laugh.

He’d wanted Blaine to do it, of course – in his heart and in his mind, it had always been Blaine helping him through this new dimension of his life, and it seemed only fitting that he would get to be the one officiating it – but he had told Kurt it was not a good idea.

Now, with a crown on his head, he settles for taking Blaine’s smile and drawing courage from it. Blaine moves his hand to rest on the center of his chest, where his necklace hangs, and Kurt returns the gesture.

He wants nothing but to have Blaine by his side, holding his hand, but he understands that it’s far from ideal. He understands that Blaine is still John Anderson’s son and that it’ll take some time before Blaine can be comfortable in front of a crowd, and a crowd can be comfortable in front of Blaine.

-x-

The sun is high on a clear sky, warming the grass and the few butterflies in the air. The definite arrival of Spring feels disconnected from the grief of that day.

Kurt watches as the endless row of bodies in graves starts being buried. Closest to him, he watches as Emma tearfully throws the first piece of dirt on Will’s body – her body shakes, but she holds her head high and her shoulders straight. Next to her, Mercedes takes a deep breath as she starts burying Joe – sweet, strange Joe. Kurt can only regret never giving himself the opportunity to know him better. After that, Wes stands straight and strong, the only sign of emotion the crease between his eyebrows and the set of his jaw, but it’s enough to make it heartbreaking as he buries Jeff, and behind him, David’s usual joyous smile is replaced by tears, standing over Trent’s grave. And it goes on, and on. People burying loved ones by the hundreds.

The shadows shift as the sun moves, sinking lower and lower in the sky. By the time every grave is a small mound of freshly dug earth, the sky has turn red and blue, casting hauntingly beautiful shadows and colors on the flowers suddenly sprouting on each of them.

Kurt’s not entirely sure what moves him to do it, but before he knows it, he’s dropping on one knee and bowing his head.

A moment goes by before he hears the rustle of thousands following his example. He has no way of knowing how many minutes of silence they hold, but when he finally raises his head and wipes his tears, he feels like maybe it’s a good start to honoring these brave souls.

“Thank you,” he murmurs under his breath before he can make himself look away.

He catches so many eyes. Finn’s, overflowing with tears. Rachel’s, sad but proud. Quinn’s, strong and determined. Mike’s, kind and a little lost. Sebastian’s, serious and dull. Santana’s, hard but tired.

He finds Blaine’s. He knows he’ll have to wait until the crowd disperses, mostly. Most people are still looking at him, and there are some things he’d like to keep private. At least for now.

Blaine looks back at him and gives him a feeble smile. Kurt watches as he slowly makes his way away from the crowd and up the hill. He waits for a few more minutes before he follows, wordlessly stepping out from between Isabelle and Sue. They climb all the way to the top of the hill, Blaine ahead of him but very clearly aware of Kurt following.

As they sit, surveying the splay of green fields beneath, and the city up ahead, Kurt lies down and lays his head on Blaine’s lap. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, as fingers dig into his hair and scratch soothingly.

“Back where I came from, there were wars happening all the time,” he says. “Never really close to home, but they were a constant fixture in our newspapers and politics. The whole thing seemed so distant to me, but also so present. We were always a part of it, our country, but it was always on foreign ground, I guess. It was strange, as a nation, being part of something, but not really living it to its last consequence. What I knew was that every day, there was yet another load of soldiers shipped off somewhere far away to fight and maybe die. Most of us never even knew why they had to go, why we were even fighting that war, but they went, and sometimes they died, sometimes they came back…

“I remember reading that a lot of those that did come back were… troubled. They had PTSD, or… guilt, or… a lot of problems. Some of them couldn’t even find jobs, some of them simply… couldn’t handle being back. They couldn’t handle not being surrounded by their partners in combat, by the environment they’d had to get used to. A lot of them would end up enlisting again and going back because… well, because it was the only reality they understood anymore.

“When I had my nightmares… about us – about me going back home and leaving you... there was this part when I’d step into my bedroom and as soon as I did, all of it would turn to ash. I was so scared of watching you suffer I never even realized what it was trying to tell me. The world I wanted to go back to…? It’s just not there anymore – not for me. My dad is gone. My mom has been gone for a long time. I never really had friends… I have no one left there, and of the people I could come to meet… how would they ever understand it when I’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming and sweating over nightmares of dead faces staring back at me? How would they understand when I’d just need to stop and cry for hours because all of the people I’ve watched suffer…? How would they understand _anything_ about me? About who I am _now_. I’m one of those soldiers, and I don’t think I want to go back…

“The Kurt who had nothing left but his dreams of singing on a stage and making beautiful clothes? That Kurt belongs in that world. He belongs in New York. But the Kurt who’s fought for lives, who’s learned to love even when it’s dangerous, who knows so many things he didn’t know he could do, whose strength is defined not only by how high his head is held, but also by how generous his heart can be even when it’s hard…? That Kurt belongs here. With you, and with Rachel, and Quinn, and Finn, and Sebastian, and Mike, and even Santana – with everyone who’s helped me become this man, and who will understand when I can’t breathe over the things I’ve witnessed and fought through.

“That’s why I stayed.”

Kurt turns so he can look up at Blaine. At this beautiful person of a husband. He reaches out so he can cradle Blaine’s cheek with hand.

“That’s why I married you,” he murmurs as Blaine leans into his touch and nods.

“That night we made love for the first time… I think that’s when I knew… that I had to stay here. That I wouldn’t be happy anywhere else, especially not without you. I just didn’t know how to admit that to myself. I… I grew up on perseverance. I survived through years and years of abuse, of people calling me names, shoving me against lockers, throwing me into dumpsters – I survived all that because I knew I had New York waiting for me. I swore to myself I’d get there and I’d make them all remember me – remember my name and regret ever treating me like they did.

“I’ve never given up on anything in my life. I’ve had many things taken from me, but I’ve never given anything up. And it’s… it’s a strange feeling – even when it’s for the better, even when I know it’s what will make me the happiest, it’s still strange. It still leaves me feeling a little weak, and back then weakness wasn’t something I could afford to show.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to work past this need… this need to persevere because… well. Sam was right. You would have been unhappy in my old world – sooner or later you would have. You’d start thinking about him and Santana, about Milly, about Isabelle. You love me, I know you do, and I love you too, but we can’t be each other’s whole worlds, can we? And it would’ve been selfish of me to let you give up all of this, just so I could go back somewhere that didn’t really have anything left to offer me and have you with me.”

“It wasn’t about that, Kurt, I-”

“Yes. Yes, it was. We could fool ourselves and say we were doing it for the fresh start, but it’s not true. It wouldn’t be a fresh start, it’d just be another obstacle course, and I should’ve known better than to ignore that. We were doing it for a dream that didn’t really mean anything to me anymore. I was just too stubborn to let it go.”

Blaine breathes and stays silent for a moment. When he speaks he cards his fingers gently through Kurt’s hair. “For what it’s worth, I love you all the more for it. For your strength. For never giving up. You know you’re my hero.”

Kurt smiles.

“And I don’t think it was selfish. Misguided, maybe, but not selfish, Kurt. You’re not selfish.”

“I like to think I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I like to think that even if you hadn’t told me you couldn’t come, and even if your father hadn’t made me think it wasn’t possible… I like to think I would’ve still realized that it wasn’t the right choice for us.”

Kurt props himself up on one hand so he can reach for a kiss. Blaine returns it eagerly, bending down until they’re lying next to each other. Kurt pulls back, touches their noses affectionately – Blaine beams and chases the movement – before Kurt presses their foreheads together and says, “Rachel and Finn are going to go help with the camps and the refugees…” Blaine frowns at the sudden change of topic, “I think you should go with them.”

“Oh…” Blaine sighs, “But… what… that’s going to take a long time.”

“I know.” Kurt nods and gives Blaine a sad smile, “But I also know it’s what you’ve always felt like you needed to do… and, I think you wouldn’t be able to… heal, stuck in that castle with me. Playing pretend and telling everyone it’ll be okay without… you know, actually getting your hands dirty…? I… I know it’s important, what I’ll be doing, I know it’s necessary and I’m happy to be the one putting on a brave face and a smile. But you need to get away from this place, and… well, you need to find a way to be at peace with yourself and your past, before you can come back here, and I think you should go to those camps and to those refugees, and truly help them.”

“But… I don’t want to just abandon you when-”

“I’ve got Quinn, and Isabelle, and a whole lot of people willing to back me up and keep me sane. I’ll be fine.” He cards his fingers through Blaine’s hair and kisses him softly, “But you won’t. If you stay here, you won’t be fine.”

“Kurt.”

“You promised me you’d be okay,” Kurt tells him with a stern, but loving glare. “I need you to do whatever it takes to keep that promise, Blaine. I’ll visit you. I’ll write to you, and you’ll write to me. I’ll touch my necklace and know that you love me always, and you’ll do the same. I’ll keep Cat safe with me until you find a way to do that yourself. I’ll whisper how much I love you to her and hope that you feel it too. It’s not going to be the easiest thing, but it’s not forever, and I truly, truly think you need this.”

“But…”

“Hey… You said you wanted to come with me because you needed a fair shot at being yourself and being happy. And I get that you feel like that when you’re with me, but I need you to feel like that _all the time_.” His hand slides down until it’s resting over Blaine’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, “I’m not what you need right now, and that’s okay.”

“Kurt.”

“It’s not forever,” Kurt repeats. “You’ll come back to me. A year, two years from now, you’ll come back to me and we will have our forever. But for now, what you need is to be out there, helping hand by hand, person by person. You need to feel the way that people can and _will_ trust you. You need to feel the way you’re not a burden on me or anyone else. You need to feel the way that people can do more than forgive you for sins you haven’t ever committed – people can be grateful to you.”

“W-what about Ava? I…”

“She’ll be with me, and Milly. She can wait for you just as much as I can, and I can take her with me, every time I go visit you. And I promise, your name will be the first word out of her mouth from how much I am going to drown her with stories about you.”

When Blaine doesn’t seem able to find any words, Kurt kisses him.

“You need to heal, and you can’t do that in the castle. But I love you and I’ll be with you every step of the way, even when I’m not physically there.” His hand moves the fraction of an inch it needs for his fingers to press the necklace deeper against Blaine’s skin, “I helped you sing a song once, when you thought you couldn’t do it – I’ll do it as many times as it takes, because you’re very much worth it.”

“Kurt, I…” he trails off, his voice a little thick before he reaches forward and presses their lips back together, “Thank you. Thank you for loving me, and, and…. And for just knowing me when I have no idea ho-”

Kurt puts a light finger on his lips, “Just say you love me, and we’ll call it even.” He smiles with a small chuckle.

Blaine swallows the thousands of rushed words he’d been spilling and only stops for a breath before he melts into Kurt’s embrace, “I love you.”


	24. Epilogue: More Than Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you notthetoothfairy for betaing this story, for catching my many, many, many typos, for making it much better, for being a great second brain, second imagination, second everything to bounce ideas off of. Thank you for believing in the story and making me keep writing it. It wouldn't be the same without you.
> 
> Thank you Glee for, somehow, inspiring so much creativity out of it and giving me these amazing characters with whom to test the waters and grow a little more as an artist and writer, with each story I write about them.
> 
> Thank *you*, who is reading this, for reading, for enjoying, for letting me know how this made you feel.   
> I feel very lucky. A huge hug from me to all of you.
> 
> I hope you like it.

Kurt,

I miss you. I miss you beyond words and beyond reason. I miss you so much. But I realize now that you were right. I mean, I knew you were, but now I’m absolutely sure that this is where I need to be. And that’s where you need to be. But it’s not forever, so it’s okay. You saved me, and now I needed to learn to save myself, and I think I’m managing just that.

I’m sorry it’s been a month and no word from me, but this is hectic and I barely have time to breathe let alone talk. Every time I get a letter from you, you can see me sprinting through the camp all the way from the head desk to my tiny, tiny, tiny private tent. The moment I start writing my reply something happens and I have to postpone it yet again, and by the time I can finally get to put my head down on a pillow I literally black out. This is so much work, Kurt. But right now I don’t care. I’m writing this letter if I have to do it while the whole damn camp burns down.

Kurt, you guys are being amazing up there, and I’m in awe of how smoothly things are going, considering the damage that’s been done, and I have no doubts that you’re a big reason things are working out great. You’re being silly (well, you’re not being silly – I understand why you’d be scared or uncertain, I would be too in your shoes), because you’re not an imposter on that throne – you’re the best man for the job and no one can convince me otherwise. So, each time you feel scared or terrified I want you to know that I understand, but also that I think you’re amazing, and that I have all the faith in the world that you’ll do everything perfectly – and if not perfectly, pretty damn near. And if not even that – well, I’ll still love you.

It’s been a challenge for me too, love, but I definitely think we’re right in not publicizing our marriage. It’s not something we should be ashamed of or actively hide, but, for the time being, I don’t think the kingdom is ready for that kind of… shock. As much as I want to shout it from the rooftops, I still feel like they’d lynch me the moment they found out. Maybe I’m not giving them enough faith, but it’s just something I’m not ready to chance. We just need to be patient, love.

I’m sighing and rolling my eyes at myself for that last paragraph even though it’s true. It shouldn’t be this complicated. I kind of hate it. I’m doing this thing where I don’t apologize for things that aren’t my fault, so I’m not going to apologize for you not getting to bask in the glow of newly wed happiness. But I still wish I could’ve given you that. I wish I could have been a person with the power to give you that.

A few people did notice my necklace, though. – No, I am not prancing around half naked, don’t start! (although the ladies do ask for it, those minxes!) But it gets hot and sometimes one needs to discard the layers, and yes, I’m giving you these visuals for a reason, love, and yes this is a hint I want some in return – They asked and I told them I was married to the most beautiful person I’d ever met, and that he was off saving the world and being a (my) hero – they think I’m making you up. If it happens to you, maybe you could say something like, “Oh, I met this guy once. He was alright, we got hitched. He’s doing some stuff, though, but he’ll be back cuz I haven’t really managed to shake him off just yet.”

Anyway, I’ve met so many people, Kurt, you have no idea. I think I can truly call them my friends – not because we’ll be in touch for the rest of our lives, or because we spend so much time together, but because we’ve helped each other a lot. At first they all cared about who I was, you know? And yes, sometimes it kind of hurt, because sometimes they would turn their backs on me and not even accept the food I was giving them. But other times, they would tell me they were glad I didn’t follow in my father’s footsteps.

Better yet, after a while, sometimes they simply wouldn’t care.

The other day I was taking care of a bunch of kids, and one of them asked me about it. Asked if it meant I was evil. I was a little stunned and I think I was stuttering more than anything, but this old woman standing next to us just said, “No. It means that he made the right choices, and that he’s here completely on his own merit.”

I feel silly admitting it (don’t tell anyone), but I cried that night. I think it was hope.

Her name is June, and she’s pretty awesome (a little abrasive at times, but she says life has taught her not to waste her words or bottle them up, which is something I can understand).

Speaking of kids, though. I don’t know if you’ve been informed, but hey, might as well tell you. There are so many. So many. We’re doing our best to try and find their parents or some sort of family, but it’s not easy, and a lot of them are just simply alone – nothing to do about it. So, we have a lot of orphans and nowhere to put them. At first I thought of the Bluebird Inn, but I think even that is too small (maybe it can work as a temporary solution, but nothing more). I’ve been to the Dalton orphanage and it’s a joke. We need something big and real.

I’m sorry – I didn’t want these letters to be used for this kind of thing, but I just needed to bring that one forward and we’ll discuss it better when you visit SOON. Moving on!

Tell me about Ava! I want to know every little movement she’s made since I left. Did she move her pinky? Did she blink? Did she yawn? I need to know all of that, Kurt. All of it! I miss her so much it’s unreal.

I know we didn’t talk about it – not properly. But I also know you understood what she means to me. And most of all, I hope she can mean the same to you, because I think between the two of us and Milly, that girl could be so, so, so well loved. And maybe we can make her happy. I really hope so. She deserves it.

And because I just want to be a father with you by my side. I want us both to be that to her. I want us to be a family.

I have to wrap this up. I smell smoke and there’s this kid with a penchant for pyromaniacs, I’m kind of scared of leaving him alone for too long. And it seems I lied when I said I’d keep writing even if the camp burnt down.

I’m counting down the days until I see you again. Sixteen.

I love you and I miss you. I’m touching my necklace and thinking of you.

Forever yours,

Blaine

-x-

Sebastian hops off the front steps to the castle and grins, “Ready, big boss?”

The nickname has lost its grating quality a long time ago. “Yes, please! I’m ready to go see my husband!” Kurt urges him. Ava is happily perched on his hip, easily entertained as Milly plays peek-a-boo.

“I’d make fun of you, but I’m pretty much with you on this one.” Sebastian chuckles, taking Kurt and Milly’s elbows and enveloping them in green light.

The portal vanishes and Kurt’s left breathless – not because of it, he’s gotten more than used to portals long ago – but because he’s suddenly staring at the Inn he’d called home a year ago. There are dozens of kids around it, running and playing, their laughter so much different than what Kurt was used to hearing in this place. He’s in such a shock he barely registers Ava’s sudden, loud cries in his arms. _She_ is not used to portals.

“Wow…!” Sebastian breathes next to him, “That’s a lot of kids.”

“That’s not even half of them,” a voice says, and they turn to find Elliott, beaming and smiling, two little girls holding each of his hands.

Sebastian’s quick to throw his arms around Elliott, who hugs him back.

“Hey there, stranger,” Elliott mutters into the crook of his neck, and Kurt can’t help looking away, turning his attention to Ava and getting her to calm down. It’s a joint effort as Milly goes back to their thrilling game.

He looks around for something to distract her with, just as the front door to the Inn bursts open and Blaine steps out with the widest grin.

Ava squeals at the sight of him, and Kurt would sprint if he wasn’t holding her. Blaine does, though. He sprints right to them and hugs them tightly – poor Ava completely squished between Kurt and Blaine. She doesn’t complain, though, she just laughs and squeals, her tears of discomfort completely forgotten. Blaine plants a kiss on every inch of Kurt’s face before he pulls back just enough to take Ava into his arms and do the same to her.

“Hey there, beautiful girl!” Blaine gasps, admiration taking over his expression, “My perfect little birthday girl! You’re huge!”

“She would say ‘I missed you, Papa’, but she doesn’t speak yet,” Kurt says. Blaine looks up and they fall in love all over again.

“Hi there, husband,” Blaine mumbles through his grin.

“Hi, husband,” Kurt replies and leans in for another longer, softer kiss. This is it. This is what makes Kurt the happiest he’s ever been. A family.

When Blaine was working at the camps, though, they would have to hide and be discreet about this sort of thing. Kurt was visiting as King, and Blaine was showing him around as part of the staff. Anything else, only inside a closed tent. But not here – here that doesn’t matter, because they’re surrounded by friends, people they trust, and children.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

“And hi, grandmother of my child!” Milly adds teasingly.

“Oh!” Blaine gasps, pulling back with a startle. “I’m so sorry!” He envelops her, and greets her with a resounding kiss on her cheek, arm wound tight around her shoulders.

“And hi, Oh amazing and talented court wizard!” Sebastian calls from where he’s already giving a little girl a piggyback.

“Hi, _Sebastian_.” Blaine smiles with fond exasperation as he moves to hug him briefly with one arm, while the other still holds Ava. “It’s good to see you, but don’t kid yourself. The only reason you got that job is because I didn’t want it.”

“The only reason you’d have that job is because you were screwing the big boss.”

Blaine gasps, covering one of Ava’s ears with his only free hand. “Language!” he admonishes, “Also: blasphemy. Also: seriously? _Big boss_?”

“Let’s just go inside!” Elliot cuts in with a slap to the back of Sebastian’s head. “You need to see what we’ve done to the place!”

They let themselves be ushered into the Inn. The living room has been turned into some sort of cafeteria, and each bedroom has at least four beds in them, while the basement and the conference room served as even larger dormitories for the youngest kids. Kurt can see now what Blaine meant when he told them this had to be a quick, temporary solution. The kids must be driving themselves crazy, cooped together into such tight spaces.

Other than the initial tour around the place, there’s no more talk about “work”, though. Blaine and Kurt appreciate the wonders of an early Spring and spend most of the day outside with Ava. The little girl is absolutely radiant and doesn’t pay attention to anyone but her parents and Cat. They’re more than happy just watching her giggle and squeal and Blaine entertains her with magic so beautiful she’s left quietly staring at it like never before.

Kurt just winds his arms tight around Blaine’s waist and doesn’t let go for a single minute, laying his head on his shoulder and inhaling deep the scent that he’s missed so much of the last year.

When it’s nap time, Ava crawls into Blaine’s lap and he keeps her close to him, wrapping her in warm blankets. They get a little lost watching her sleep.

“Hey…” Blaine whispers, “have you managed to find…?”

Kurt shakes his head, “There were a lot of Jakes around the castle, according to the records, so it’s hard to know for sure… but hum, there was only one that disappeared around the time she was pregnant, and he didn’t do so voluntarily.”

Blaine bites his lip and takes a deep breath, “So we’re not going to find him. Ever.”

“I don’t think so, love. Not alive.”

Blaine nods, and clears his throat, “I just… I just wonder if he knew… If he knew he created something so perfect, you know? I hope he did.” He sighs and nuzzles Kurt’s hair, “And I wish he knew she was safe, and warm, and happy. I can’t imagine the agony of… of not knowing.”

“I know…” Kurt breathes.

“She… she doesn’t look much like Marley, and… well, I wanted to have something to tell her about her father, you know? About the man who gave her this monumental head of tiny teensy curls, and her pouty little mouth, and… I just… I really wanted to find him.”

“We can try to find out as much about him as we can, but Blaine. It’s like you said: she’s warm, she’s safe and she’s happy. And I want a world of love for her too, as much as we can possible find and giver her, but she has so much of it, I promise. From me, from you, from Milly, from… from everyone in that castle. She’s never going to feel abandoned, Blaine, I really do promise.”

Blaine nods, still not quite back to his earlier cheer.

“Sad? Upset? Hurt? Scared? Mad…? I guarantee you she’s definitely going to feel all that sometimes, – but never abandoned, never unsupported and never not loved. Okay?”

Blaine takes a deep breath – so deep that Ava stirs a little bit awake with movement and he can’t help chuckling, “Yeah. I know that. She’ll be fine.”

“She’ll be great.” Kurt tells him and Blaine returns his calm smile and kisses the nearest patch of skin – his jaw – before turning back to stare lovingly at his sleeping daughter.

Milly has let herself be dragged to the kitchen where she spent all afternoon teaching a handful of kids how to bake a cake (the biggest birthday cake Kurt’s ever seen), while Sebastian and Elliot disappeared off to somewhere no one really cares to check.

Once Ava’s awake and ready, they enlist all the kids to sing Happy Birthday – Kurt insists on it happening with _his_ version and the version they’re culturally familiar with – just before the evening turns cold with the setting sun.

He and Sebastian help with the kids’ dinner, while Milly gets Ava to sleep, – the chaos of one meal hitting them like a bulldozer, while Blaine, Elliot and the other staff members move around the room as graceful as ballerinas.

All in all, it’s a long, exhausting, happy day.

He can’t possibly stop smiling the whole time he’s back in that Inn, surrounded by kids, and his friends, and Blaine, so much Blaine. He takes Blaine’s hand, after the kids have been fed, sleepy from the full stomachs, and guides them outside.

The same two-seat couch still sits there in the back porch, and Kurt makes Blaine sit down before he does too and snuggles in as close as he can. Blaine pulls him even closer.

They sit in silence for a while, but Blaine finally sighs, long and peaceful. “I missed you.”

Kurt nods against his chest and kisses the nearest surface to his lips.

“I missed talking to you in real time. I missed having the time and opportunity to say things that didn’t really matter like asking you what you want for breakfast or if you could pass me that book… I missed talking about things that aren’t what we’re doing and how we’re doing it.”

“I feel the same way.” Kurt breathes, “I really wish your technology was up to date with my old world, cuz, at least then we could’ve Skyped.”

Blaine moans, something between a laugh and cry – the kind of sound someone might make when biting into their favorite dessert that they haven’t had in years. “I missed you referencing things I know nothing about and acting like I do.” Blaine chuckles fondly, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s hair.

“I guess this world has some stuff the other doesn’t either, though.”

“Like what?”

“Like you.” Kurt smiles, half teasing. “With your curls, and your smell, and your eyes, and your everything.” He grins a little harder before he leans back closer and whispers against Blaine’s ear, “And your penis. I guess, I’d miss that too, a lot. All of your body, actually.”

Blaine’s eyebrows rise and blushes. “How is it that we’ve been married for almost a year and sexual banter is making me blush?”

“I think it’s because we’ve had sex like five times… ever.” Kurt frowns, before he counts it under his breath. “The first time, the day Rachel and Finn got married, goodbye sex when you left for the camp, and my visits – oh! That’s right! I’ve visited you twice before today, and you visited me another two times so that’s seven times.”

Blaine smirks, “Some of those count more than once, Kurt. I know that because you specif-” Kurt cuts him off with a kiss and Blaine pulls back laughing before he adds, “ _Anyway_ , we’ll be adding another one to the list tonight. And the five nights after that, because you’re not leaving tomorrow…” Blaine kisses him soundly, “I still can’t believe you’re not leaving tomorrow. A whole week with you. It feels like I’m dreaming, I’m so happy.”

“I should visit more often,” Kurt gasps, voice breathy, when Blaine’s lips find the shell of his ear.

“You really should.” Blaine smiles, decidedly pulling back. Getting frisky is not a good idea, with a bunch of kids still up. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve got a country to run or anything…”

“Things _are_ getting a little less hectic, though. I think I’ll manage to visit more,” Kurt puts his head back on Blaine’s shoulder and closes his eyes as fingers dip gently into his hair. “Maybe once a month, even. Twice…?”

“Well, I for one can’t wait until we find a more permanent solution for the orphanage and I get to go back to my beautiful husband forever.”

Kurt doesn’t really find the words to respond to that. He wants to say _I can’t wait either_. He wants to say _Please come back with me when I go after this week_!

“Kurt?”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?” He asks, voice small and hesitant as his eyes dip low and he finds himself staring at the crisscross of scars across Blaine’s forearms.

“For what?”

“To come back to Dalton…? To be in that castle, and to be… I don’t know… to be _yourself_ no matter where you are?”

There’s a small stretch of silence.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Kurt pulls back to look Blaine in the eye. Blaine’s smiling gently.

“Yes.” He nods again so Kurt can see the certainty in his voice, in his eyes and in his movement. “I think I… I think I’m ready. I mean… I’m not completely healed, no, but I think I never will be. There will always be scars, and some of them may actually keep bleeding forever, but I think I can deal with it better now, and… I just… I think I’m _okay._ ” Blaine cradles the side of Kurt’s face. “So, I’m keeping my promise. I’m okay, and… well, it’s not just because of you or other people anymore. I’m okay with myself.”

Kurt pulls back, throat a little tight, “Yeah?”

Blaine just kisses him.

Relief. It spreads through his body like a ball of light, from head to toe. At first Kurt thinks it’s only because he’s been waiting so long to _hear this_. But then he realizes that it’s also that he’s been _waiting so long_ to hear this. For the first time in a year, he can finally cave into his admission that he truly, deeply, devastatingly misses Blaine and needs him back in his arms as soon as humanly possible. All this time, he’s been keeping that to himself – it wasn’t fair to put that weight on Blaine, not when he’d been the one telling him to go and find his peace again.

Now he can finally breathe and admit to himself and to Blaine how hard it really was to just let him go, and trust he’d come back.

When he pulls back from the kiss, he does, because a shuddering breath begs to be drawn. Blaine frowns at the tears in his eyes, thumbing quickly at them, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Kurt shakes his head.

“Kurt, that doesn’t seem like nothing,” Blaine prompts gently.

“Really, it is. Nothing at all,” he sniffs again and Blaine just shakes his head and coaxes an answer out of him with a small kiss, “I just… I miss you all the time, and it’s been… it’s been really hard... being there without you, Blaine. I just… You’re my rock – you’ve been my rock since I got here, and I just felt a little lost and scared sometimes… I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down – I’m happy you’re better, I am. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, so-”

Blaine frowns, “Kurt. I didn’t know. You didn’t… Your letters never said…”

“I didn’t want to burden you with that,” he mumbles, averting his eyes.

“Kurt.” Blaine takes his chin between his fingers and forces him to look back up. “We’re married now. We’re parents together. We- Your burden is my burden, okay? You don’t get to keep this from me! You just don’t.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Promise me.” Blaine holds Kurt’s face between both hands. “Promise me you’ll tell me when you’re not okay.”

“Yeah- I- yeah, of course.” Kurt nods. “I just don’t want you rushing out of here because of this. I can handle it, I swear. And just like you needed time to find your happiness outside of me, so did I. This was… important for me too, to be _here_ and belong even without you next to me, but… It was just that some days were hard and you weren’t there, and I didn’t… didn’t want you to feel bad about it so I couldn’t even talk to you about it… But mostly, it’s fine. I swear. You don’t have to rush anything – you can stay here as long as you need. And I know this is what you love doing, I can tell. So I just may-”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupts, a small smile playing at his lips, “Yes. Yes, I want to do this… I love doing this. But I can do it in Dalton, too. I just need to make sure _these_ kids get a good place, where they can be comfortable and get proper education. But when I get that…? The second I make sure of that, I’m going back to you. And then… well, then we’ll see. But I’m pretty sure the Dalton Orphanage could use some help, too.”

-x-

Blaine,

Ava said her first word today and I got to keep my promise. It was Blaine! Well, it was some variation of Blaine (Bai, possibly) but I can read minds and I know exactly what she meant. I’m now going to start working on the second word being Marley (I know you were rooting for that one, and I swear I try to mention Marley as much as I mention you, and I know Milly does too. I guess Bai is just easier to say than Marley).

I wish you’d been here to see it, though. It was the silliest thing. We were with Quinn, finger painting (I was finger painting, Quinn was fingertip painting, Ava was finger dirtying), and Quinn mentioned you. Ava laughed and then she said it. “Bai!” and I was so shocked I stood really still for a moment, and then she said it again like she knew it was that special, and I just grabbed her (Blaine, I got paint all over her, poor thing! Her brand new dress I made completely ruined) and asked her to say it again, and again, and again.

I’m sure all parents say this, but she is just so perfect and so smart, and she’s going to be a genius, I tell you! A genius!

Anyway, after I made her say it twenty times, I just broke down crying.

I miss you so much, Blaine, and I can feel she does too. It’s stupid because kids this young aren’t supposed to miss people – not like this, but she does. I know she does. I haven’t seen her as happy as when we visited you for her birthday, or even all of those shorter visits before and after that. She radiates joy then, every single second, she gets so happy. She’s happy here, too, but there’s something about having the whole family reunited, it makes her glow.

It’s not just that you missed her first steps, and now her first word. It’s that you’re missing the everyday silly things, too.

The other day she was walking – that silly wobbly walk of hers – and she was so excited and determined that she tripped over herself and fell. She made the cutest Oomph sound, and then she just pushed herself to her hands and knees and kept crawling the rest of the way. Her mouth was open and she was panting and drooling a little bit. I turned to see if you were laughing as hard as me and you weren’t there.

And then there’s Milly. Life hasn’t been kind to her – at all. And I can feel the weight of her pain pressing down on her. I can feel her fading, and I think, “Blaine should be here. Blaine needs to be here.” I want you to have time with her – more than five minutes, and more than scared tears. I want you to have the opportunity to really be with her, before it goes completely and definitely downhill – and I feel like each day that passes without you here, that gets harder and harder. I’m not sure I can say much more on the subject without paralyzing with fear and sadness, but you made me promise to share the bad as well as the good, and here’s part of it. I’m sorry.

There’s something else you should know. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it, but… We found Cooper. We know where he is, now. We’ve notified him of your parents’ deaths, but then again, I’m sure he already knew that. It doesn’t seem like he’s thinking of leaving the place – he’s abroad, he’s perfectly okay, he’s doing fine. Anyway, I know you once said you didn’t want to see him ever again, but if you ever change your mind, we know where to find him. I could go with you. But I’ll understand if you never go. You know I’m always on your side, and I get that this isn’t a lifetime movie about forgiveness and the importance of family – there really are some things not worth chasing. Ava, Milly, and I (and Sam, and San, and Isabelle, and Rachel, and all of those guys…) we’re your family. Not that person. But still, the choice is yours, and I’m with you whatever way you choose.

On the bright side, though, I think we’re two months away from having the castle fully restored. You can tell the kids to start saying goodbye to that poor overcrowded, overworked Inn, and start (slowly, granted) packing up their stuff to move to the new and shiny Royal Orphanage!!! It already looks so good, and you guys will get the entire East Wing for the kids!

Of course, this also means you’re two months away from coming back to me forever. (I’ll still see you in two weeks, though – you’re not getting out of that!)

Isabelle visited these last few days. It’s still so bizarre to think I have cousins, and an uncle and… you know? But they’re pretty cool, and I had fun. I think you’re going to like them. The moment you come back (after we’ve spent a full day in bed, and another with Ava and Milly), we should visit them so you can meet them. I’m particularly curious to sit back and watch you interact with Sugar. I think it’s going to be interesting.

Anyway, Isabelle and Milly keep saying they miss your adorable face too much, and wondering what kind of King I am, not ordering you to “come back home this instant, mister”.

Ava misses you.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

Mostly I love you,

Kurt

-x-

It’s been about two years since John Anderson fell and the Crown Prince took his rightful throne and became the King we’d all hoped and waited for. The tyranny, the cruelty, the horror was over, and while we knew that wasn’t the end of the hardship and the exhausting work, we were still happy for it. I remember that day and the following few well. I remember the dawn breaking and the sunshine falling on the celebrating crowds that filled the streets – I remember tears of joy and relief on people’s faces. But I also remember a lot of other things too. Things not many people know about that day, or the years leading up to it. Some of it I’ve told you already, some of it I haven’t, some of it I may never.

But today, I feel compelled to share something very important, very dear to me. Something I need you all need to hear – or in this case read – on this very day.

You know I was part of the Resistance. I’ve told you about many days of that journey – some happy, some sad. So you all know that that one day that ended it all…? It was but a fleck on years and years of hard work. But also of friendship. Unconditional, unwavering, unyielding friendship.

So let me expand on that friendship. A particular one, at that.

Blaine Anderson was, and still is, my friend. In the deepest, most heartwarming meaning of the word friend. I cannot overstate how important his friendship was to me. He taught me how to fight. He was my first kiss. He made me have faith in myself. He inspired me with his kindness. He gave me infinite smiles and I gave them back. He sacrificed many a night to listen to me and give me advice when I first joined the Resistance, when I first fell in love, when I first had my heart broken. He officiated my wedding. (If it wasn’t for that first kiss I’d gladly call him my brother, blood be damned)

And he did all of this while struggling in a sea of his own pain. Where he could have easily turned into selfishness or bitterness… he turned to unyielding kindness and compassion.

Not a lot of people know that, do they? Blaine Anderson, good friend of yours truly, Rachel Berry. Sure, some people know the rumors – “Oh, I heard Blaine Anderson was part of the Resistance!”, or “did you hear Blaine Anderson is working at the refugee camps?” – and most of it is true (except for the preposterous accusations of betrayal, or of how he’s trying to get back on people’s good side so he won’t be trialed and sentenced to prison like the rest of them). Blaine Anderson was and always will be a big part of the Resistance – I would even go as far as to say he was the embodiment of the Resistance and what it was about. I think we certainly couldn’t have done any of it without him. And yet, for all the stories I’ve told you these last two years, his was not one of them. Partly because he wasn’t ready for me to tell you, but mostly because I knew you’d need it when it mattered the most.

It must seem bizarre to see another Anderson up in that Castle, knowing sometimes he’ll even be sitting in that throne – no, not the big one, but still a throne nonetheless. I could hear the whispers of doubt and concern long before his marriage to the King was publicly announced yesterday – I knew they were coming and I wasn’t wrong. I, as well as both of them and all our friends, knew better than to expect anything else, and that’s exactly why, for two years, I put off writing this piece, writing his name amidst the loving words I hold for him in my heart and my pen, time and time again. Because I knew, one day, the kingdom would need them more than ever. But most of all, because I knew my dear friend would need to be reminded of how I’ve always loved him – of how people can and will love him, no matter what his name is or where he comes from.

Finally, it’s time for you to know the story of Blaine, the story of Kurt, and the story of Kurt and Blaine. So, settle in guys, because it’s a long one, but it’s also a beautiful one and I know by the end of it… well, by the end of it, you’ll look at those two thrones and the men sitting in them, side by side, and you’ll smile like I do.

-x-

Bath time is the worst. Well, not the bath itself – after the first couple of times, one just gets used to getting soaked and that doesn’t even qualify as bad anymore. No, the post-bath is the truly bad part. They stopped trying to go at it alone, it’s just impossible. They’re a team, and this definitely requires teamwork.

“Okay, Ava. Time to get out!” Blaine announces, coming back from the bedroom where her clothes are already splayed out and arranged for easy access.

“No,” she says, not even bothering to look up from where she’s playing with her toys, splashing away. Kurt’s sitting on the edge of the tub, wet hair flopping onto his forehead and jaw clenched in anticipation.

“Sweetie, it’s time. Don’t be difficult.”

Kurt scoffs at Blaine’s sweet tentative tone.

“No,” she insists, a little more adamant, but still not bothering to look.

Blaine exchanges a look with Kurt who just purses his lips and takes a deep breath, “The water will go cold, and you’ll be get sick, sweetpea.”

“Make it waam,” she challenges.

Kurt shoots an accusing glare at Blaine. “That was _one_ time!” he says defensively. “And I did something similar for you too, once, and I seem to recall you were a big fan!”

“We were making out. This is your daughter’s education.”

“I did it once!”

Ava giggles.

“Demon child,” Kurt mutters under his breath. “How has she already mastered the concept of divide and conquer?!”

“Probably because you rise to the bait every time,” Blaine tells him with a fake sweet voice, and Kurt squints his eyes. “Team work,” Blaine says, “You grab her, I got the towel.”

“NOOO!” Ava screeches and before either of them know it she’s climbing out of the tub, speeding off and out of the bathroom. They’re still standing still, staring after her, shell shocked, as the bedroom door slams and she sprints god knows where in the castle, her little screech a fading high pitched noise in the distance.

“Every time,” Blaine groans, head falling backwards with a groan.

“DEMON CHILD, COME BACK HERE!” Kurt grabs the towel from Blaine’s defeated hands and goes after her.

The castle staff doesn’t even blink as they guide the pair of them toward the kid, with pointed thumbs and small words of “second door on your left”. This definitely happens too often. They finally find her in the freaking Grand Hall, crouching behind the freaking Throne, shivering, dripping wet, stark naked. She tries to escape again, but Blaine makes the towel fly out of Kurt’s hands and wrap tight around her, catching her just before she falls face first onto the floor. She looks startled for a moment – like she might actually cry – but then she laughs, loud and obnoxious.

“Oh great…” Kurt mumbles. “You gave her a new reason to do this.”

Blaine shoots him a tired glare and Kurt relents.

“Yeah, fine, it _was_ funny,” he sighs, with a small smile. “And effective.”

“We really need to start locking the door, though,” Blaine comments as he throws Ava over his shoulder, much to her giddy delight, and starts back toward her bedroom.

“Or, we could just let her become the Demon Child she’s clearly meant to be and let her live her life free of the constraints of clothes and proper healthcare,” Kurt offers as he moves, walking closer and wrapping and arm around Blaine’s waist. “Come to think of it, why don’t we just leave her with the wolves and let them raise her.”

“Yes!” Blaine gasps, “I like that idea!”

She frowns, struggling to look at Blaine’s face and instead settling to gauging if Kurt’s serious when he leans back a little to smirk at her.

“I’ve heard of plenty of kids who were raised by wolves, and they turned out okay… Mostly. Some of them. One of them…?” Kurt shrugs and twists his hand in a half-half kind of gesture. “He was fictional. The others were eaten.”

“Meh,” Blaine considers. “Still worth a shot.”

“No!” Ava gasps.

“What? Why not? They’d let you run around naked,” Kurt reasons, “And you’re three now, you’re a big girl.”

“Granted,” Blaine readjusts his grip on her, “they don’t live in castles.”

“And they eat raw meat.”

“But I heard it’s very tasty.”

“Maybe you’d like it, Ava. Maybe it’s better than that chocolate pudding grandma Milly makes. Who knows? I really think you’d be great living with the wolves.”

“I think we should go over there right now.”

“NO!” She squirms and kicks slightly.

“Well, alright,” Blaine says it like it’s a big chore. “We won’t give you to the wolves if you don’t want to go.”

“We just want you to be happy, Demon Child.” Kurt unwinds his arm from around Blaine to pat her head affectionately.

Blaine laughs but shakes his head and mouths, “Please don’t call her that.”

“She won’t even remember.” Kurt rolls his eyes.

“It’s been half a year. She will if you keep doing it.”

“You think it’s endearing,” he teases sliding his hand into Blaine’s back pocket like usual.

“And truthful,” Blaine nods with a bright smile and a flush to his cheeks, “doesn’t mean I feel comfortable encouraging it, love.”

-x-

Cooper,

I’ve spent years trying to figure out what I wanted to tell you. I honestly still don’t know, but I also couldn’t not tell you something anymore.

I told you I’d never forgive you, for what you did – mostly to Kitty, but also to me. I think that’s still true. I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to look you in the eye and not see you as the reason my childhood best friend died, or Milly and Marley Rose were so mistreated in that castle. I’m never going to forget that you told father about my powers, and that you were so jealous of them you were more than willing to let father either take them for his own use, or take them away entirely. I’m never not going to know that you were okay with the way father’s regime persecuted people like me – that you were okay with us being enslaved, tortured, murdered. Maybe you didn’t know, maybe you didn’t want to know, but you were a part of that system and I can’t just ignore it. I wish I could tell myself you were just a kid – but you weren’t, you were the same age I am now.

But I also remember you were the one who kept my secret for years before all of that. You were the one who would sneak me out of the castle so I could play in the snow, so I could smell the flowers, so I could be a real child; who’d give me chocolate when the nanny said I couldn’t have more, who’d give me toys when no one else remembered I needed them, who’d tuck me into bed, read me a story good night and would even tell me you loved me when neither of our parents ever thought to do the same. I don’t think it’d be fair to you if I ever forgot that. I miss that big brother a lot, actually – he was amazing. I’ll never not miss him.

I don’t know if you know, but I have a real family now – of my own. A husband and a daughter, and they love me like I didn’t know it was possible – like I didn’t know I deserved. And it took me a long time to realize it wasn’t about deserving it – that I didn’t have to keep working harder and harder each day for the people who loved me to keep loving me a constant amount. That their love wouldn’t disappear the second they stopped to think that I wasn’t perfect – that I made mistakes. After I ran from the castle, I spent years exhausting myself, trying to be deserving of the smallest gestures of affection, and feeling like I never was. But then came Wes who accepted me, Santana who respected me, Sam who liked me, Rachel who admired me... Kurt who loved me. I thought somehow, unwittingly, I’d tricked them into those feelings – that they must not be seeing properly if that was truly how they felt. I didn’t deserve their love.

But I was wrong. I know that, now. I feel safe. Safe in general, but especially in their hearts; all of them. I get home to Kurt and to Ava and there’s no other place I feel safest in, because they love me and it’s not going to change, I’m not going to have to keep fighting, tearing myself open and cut for it. Just the same as I won’t ever stop loving them.

The closest to this feeling I remember was when we were kids and you’d play with me and call me Blainers and Squirt. I felt so comfortable in your company – the company of a big brother whose love I didn’t have to earn, whose love was just there, like the sun or the moon, it simply existed. A love that was safe.

Maybe that’s why this is so hard for me. I used to think father was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but maybe you are. Maybe you’re both the best and the worst thing about my childhood. Because I loved you so fiercely, because I looked up to you so much – no one could have ever disappointed or betrayed me as much as you did. With you I felt safe – and then I wasn’t.

I hear you have a family too, now. I’m glad. I hope you get to be to them what you couldn’t to me. I hope they get to feel only the good parts of you and your love. I know how nice it feels to have your smile, your hand, your hug. I’m sure they thrive on it as much as I used to. Don’t let it go this time.

I don’t think I ever want to see you again. But somewhere, somehow I still love you. I want you to be happy – I hope you are. You will always be my big brother.

I guess what I wanted to tell you was goodbye. No more rage, anger or bitterness. Just goodbye and a heartfelt wish that you’re okay.

With love,

Blaine

-x-

“I love Rachel, I really, really do,” Kurt says as way of greeting. Blaine and Sam are sitting on the floor while Santana, perched happily on the couch, throws popcorn in their general direction. Kurt stops. “What are you doing?”

“We’re seeing who’s better at catching popcorn with their mouth!” Sam announces enthusiastically, “So far, I’m winning. And he’s terrible at it.”

Kurt surveys the scene for another silent five seconds. Santana throws another one and it hits Blaine’s forehead before it bounces back to the carpet where dozens are already left forgotten, failed. Cat’s idly playing with some of the fallen popcorn.

“You’re twenty three year old adults,” he says.

Blaine looks up at him with a small blush and a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, so?” Sam shrugs.

“She’s the head of the Royal Guard.”

“Yeah, so?” Santana shrugs.

“He’s the head of the whole Royal Guard Academy.”

“Yeah, so?” Sam shrugs.

Kurt eyes him for a moment longer, “Yeah, good point.” He nods before he lets himself drop to the couch, next to Santana, taking a handful of popcorn and joining in. Cat hops onto his lap and settles there, happily playing with his hands and fingers as he throws the popcorn.

“So what was it about Rachel that you loved so much?” Blaine asks as he fails to catch another one.

“Ugh. It’s like… I don’t even know. She’s doing a perfectly good job and she knows it. But she makes me go all the way across town to check on it just so I can tell her, _you’re doing a perfectly good job, Rachel._ ”

“Yeah,” Sam nods as he catches two at the same time, “She did that to me too, last week. I don’t know why she couldn’t have sent me a draft or something. I _can_ read on my own.”

Kurt sighs and rolls his eyes. “It’s like she doesn’t even realize I’m a busy person – present moment excluded, of course – what the hell, woman, I’ve got a kingdom to run. _And_ _then_ I come home to find the father of my child engrossed in a mid-air popcorn eating competition.”

“It’s a noble sport,” Santana drawls.

“I swear to god, I should write a book about my life. Call it The King’s Diaries. It would be on every bestseller’s list in the world. Princess Diaries? Pfff, move over Anne Hathaway, Kurt Hummel is getting a seven film adaptation deal out of _his_ books.”

Sam and Santana stop their game altogether to frown in confusion.

Blaine shrugs, “Just roll with it,” and signals Santana to keep at it.

-x-

Like every other Friday, Kurt makes his way down to the East Wing, so he can spend some time with the kids and with Blaine, watching him work. This time, though, there’s a sort of ulterior motive. The last time he’d been there, a new group of small kids had arrived, and, at the time, they’d all been pretty scared and intimidated so he hadn’t gotten to know them very well. Blaine, however, throughout the whole two weeks, had been beyond excited, running ideas for activities and things he could do to get them integrated into the group. But mostly, after a couple of days, the conversation had turned into Jeremy this and Jeremy that. Late at night, for those two weeks, with Blaine’s head resting on his chest and his fingers tracing lazy pattern into his curls, he let his husband go off on his adorable, cute little tangents about how Jeremy still only trusted him and how he needed to find ways to integrate him with the other kids without pressuring him. Kurt smiles and tells himself to start getting used to the idea of a bigger family. It’s not very hard to do.

So, as he arrives to the East Wing, Ava perched happily on his back, he greets the kids as enthusiastically as ever, but he’s on the lookout for strawberry blonde curls, big brown eyes, too big glasses and a freckly nose. Blaine kisses him hello, passionately as if they hadn’t seen each other just that morning, the way he always kisses him hello, and then guides him to check out the mural the kids had been painting on the corridor to the dormitories while the rest of the staff gets the younger kids ready for story time.

As they turn to go back downstairs, Kurt notices a small boy clutching the frame of a door, looking up at them with wide, curious eyes and shyly biting his lips. He can’t be more than five, and Kurt knows he’s found Jeremy. Before Kurt can ask him anything, though, Blaine swoops in and grabs him by the waist onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The boy giggles louder than Kurt would’ve guessed from his earlier timidity.

“Jeremy!” Blaine calls, shifting him easily so that he’s draped over his shoulders like a particularly large, heavy scarf, “What’re you doing up here?!”

The boy blushes beyond scarlet before he cups a hand around Blaine’s ear and whispers something into it.

Blaine gives him the sweetest, fondest smile. “I was missing you too, buddy,” he whispers secretively. He maneuvers Jeremy until the kid has his legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his shoulders, “In fact, I was just thinking about you. I wanted to introduce you to two people who are very important to me.”

The boy looks at him with big fearful eyes.

“It’s alright, you’re gonna love them.” Blaine bops his nose with a finger. “This is my husband, Kurt.”

The boy looks up at Kurt, “He has blue eyes.”

“He sure does,” Blaine says calmly, “He’s the King. Like I told you.”

“Oh!”

“And you didn’t believe me…!” Blaine tickles his sides gently and Jeremy squirms for a moment, “Kurt’s heard a lot about you, too, you know? I bet he knows you almost as well as me or Elliott!” Jeremy looks back at Kurt, wide eyed.

Kurt winks, and the boy immediately looks away. He looks back just as fast, though. It’s adorable.

“And this lovely girl getting a sweet piggyback ride, is the one and only Ava.”

“This is Ava?” the boy asks.

“Yes,” Ava says, almost haughtily, her lisp making the whole thing even funnier, “I’m their daughter. I’m four years old. How old are you?”

The two kids look at each other. He holds up five fingers, and she frowns slightly.

“He’s five, sweetie.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” She nods, “So we can play together, sometimes.”

Jeremy surveys for a bit longer before he turns back to Blaine and says, “She’s nice, I guess.”

“She’s nice, _you guess_ ,” Blaine teases with fond exasperation. He readjusts his grip on the boy, “Come on, let’s go see about that story time! You know, Kurt makes the best voices – everyone loves it when it’s Kurt reading!”

For the rest of his day at the orphanage, he commits his efforts to connecting with Jeremy. That day, though, it ends in frustration. So, he comes back the next day, and the next, and the next. At first, he thinks it’s going to always end up in frustration and disappointment, because if Kurt so much as looks at him, without Blaine being around, the kid just straight up turns and runs. How is he supposed to connect with him if the kid doesn’t even look him in the eye, let alone talk to him?! But then there’s a blessed moment, when Kurt’s changing a kid’s diaper. He can see Jeremy from the corner of his eye, as always, curious but shy as he tiptoes inside the room.

He pretends not to notice, lest the boy run away like most times Kurt tried to approach him.

He’s just about finished when suddenly there’s a growing pool of yellow and he groans.

“Seriously?” he gasps. “Seriously, kid? You couldn’t have peed five minutes ago?!”

And then he hears it. The giggle. He looks on reflex to find Jeremy pink cheeked and laughing. As soon as he notices he’s been spotted, he clamps his mouth shut and makes to leave.

“No,” Kurt says, careful not to sound desperate or anything but amused at himself, “that’s alright, Jeremy, you can laugh. It’s pretty silly, huh?”

The boy falters in his escape. He pauses and gives Kurt a considering look. After a long moment, he cracks a smile and Kurt internally cheers.

“Do you want to help me change the diaper, _again_?”

Jeremy stares back for a minute. The suspense is thrilling. Finally he nods and shuffles closer.

-x-

Kurt slips his hand inside Blaine’s and squeezes. Blaine swallows and sniffs, before he nods to himself and takes a deep breath, “Let’s go inside.” He says putting down the spade he was still holding.

Kurt gives him a sad smile, and wipes away the last, lonely tear falling down from Blaine’s red-rimmed eyes. Blaine gives him his best shot at returning the smile and reaches up to straighten the baseball cap on Kurt’s head. Kurt pulls him close and wraps an arm around his husband’s shoulders as they walk slowly back to the castle – the last two people to leave, as night has already fallen.

They climb up staircases and walk through corridors in silence – their footsteps echoing through the space. It’s not until they make the last turn that they can hear the little voices and it’s like a warm blanket to the soul.

“Hey kids,” Blaine says softly as he pushes the door open, “Time for bed.”

They’re already in their pajamas, sitting on Ava’s bedroom floor, hunched over papers and pencil and pens – true masterpieces scattered everywhere, while Quinn sits quietly on the bed, flipping through a book. She looks up at the two of them and easily gets to her feet, bending over the two little kids and kissing them goodnight.

“I’ll see you in five?”

Kurt nods, and she leaves, closing the door carefully.

“Come on, munchkins,” Kurt bends over to pick Jeremy up, even though he’s definitely getting big and heavy for this kind of thing. “Time for bed.”

“Did you brush your teeth?” Blaine asks, doing the same with Ava.

“Huh huh!” Jeremy nods proudly.

“Ugh, when did you get so wonderful?!” Kurt kisses his cheek thoroughly.

“Can he sleep here tonight, daddies?” Ava asks, her voice shy and hesitant, like it very rarely ever gets. Kurt turns to look at her, sees the way her smile is feeble, and then looks back at Jeremy who’s nodding at her request with big bright eyes. Kurt just walks over to her bed and lets him crawl into it.

Blaine watches them with a smile and holds Ava a little tighter. He tucks her gently into bed, right next to her brother, with a kiss to her forehead and brushes her hair behind her ear. She looks up at him, frowning deeper when she notices how her father’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from crying. “Ava,” he whispers, hesitating only for a moment, “Grandma Milly may be gone, but she’ll be with us forever, okay?” He places his hand over her small chest, and looks up to find Jeremy’s eyes so that the boy knows the words count for him too. He reaches over to scratch behind Jeremy’s ear, the way it never fails to comfort him, and then settles it over his chest as well. “Right here. If we remember her, and keep her right in our hearts, she’ll always be with us, okay?”

Ava sniffs and nods. At six years old, she’s not quite sure what’s happening, but it’s enough to leave her a little scared and sad. Jeremy grabs both his parent’s hands with a strong grip that breaks Kurt’s heart a little bit, and he leans over to hold his son that much closer.

“And when you’ve got a tough choice to make, or you’re sad, or you just need a kind smile, you just close your eyes and remember hers. Because her smile was magic,” Kurt murmurs. “Just don’t you guys ever forget that she loved you both very, very much.”

After turning out the lights they wait until the kids’ breathing has turned steady and deep before they gently slide out of the cramped bed and make their silent way out of the bedroom. They hug for a long moment, Blaine’s hand cupping the back of Kurt’s head and Kurt’s arms tight around Blaine’s shoulders, before Blaine finally steps back from it and breathes out.

“Okay, let’s go. I definitely need a drink.”

They haven’t even reached the kitchen before they can hear the loud voices and the laughter. It’s a little strange and a little stark, but it feels kind of nice after an entire day of grief.

They make their way inside and Finn’s wide smile greets them, “We were just talking about that time she asked what we wanted for dinner, and everyone told her something different and she actually made each and every one of those dishes!”

“I swear, that woman had the patience of a unicorn!” Mercedes shakes her head, while Blaine guides Kurt to a free chair and pulls him down to sit on his lap, arms wound tightly around his waist and chin hooked over the shoulder. “If it were me I’d given you all a plate full of mashed potatoes and called it a full course meal.”

Elliott scoffs. “If you think that’s amazing, you should’ve seen her at the orphanage. I honestly don’t know how she didn’t go insane with those kids pestering her for dessert all the time. I don’t know how she kept sane with all the riots each time she told them no. But then somehow, they still loved her. I swear I’d feel guilty about getting her to work for the orphanage pretty much every day. But I don’t know… I guess she was happy there, so – even when she was getting pestered by the little buggers for chocolate everything.”

“Personally, I’ve always believed in the technique of giving them all the candy they want and then cackle mercilessly as they squirm and clutch their enlarged stomachs in pain,” Sebastian offers.

“And that is exactly why you should never be a father.” Quinn points out, settling back into Puck’s embrace.

Elliott giggles, reaching over to pinch Sebastian cheeks. “He just needs to be a little coached, that’s all.”

“Coach him all you want,” Santana drawls, from where she’s languidly sprawled over the kitchen counter, swirling the drink in her hand carefully, “But he’s always going to be a dick, and that’s fifty percent genetic, fifty percent learned behavior, so, even if you adopt, you’d better prepare to at least have twenty five percent dickish children.”

“Is that why you’re not having any? Cuz they’d be full percentage dicks?” Sebastian points out.

“Exactly.” She shrugs.

“Well,” Quinn clears her throat, “As long as we’re talking about kids, Puck and I do have something to announce.” She smiles happily.

“We’re pregnant!” He beams.

“ _I’m_ pregnant.” Quinn shoots him a half-hearted glare, “We’ve talked about this. I’m the one getting fat and huge, so you do not get to hog it.”

He gives her an annoyed little smile before he rolls his eyes and grins again, “She’s pregnant!”

Everyone bursts into laughter and congratulations, enveloping them in hugs with excited squeals and back slaps.

“Oh! Yay!” Rachel gasps, “A new baby! The other ones are getting too old to be entertaining!”

Kurt gasps in outrage, while Blaine buries his laughter in the crook of his neck, tightening his hold on his husband. “Excuse you, our children are plenty entertaining!”

“Yes,” Blaine gets out through some laughter. “The demon child may be mostly tamed, but she still rears her head at least once a week.”

“And Jeremy is adorable! Okay? _Adorable_!”

“Besides,” Santana points out, “if you want some new human toys to play with, you should start playing with your husband some more.” Puck cackles and they high five, while Rachel sputters and her cheeks go a little red, her smile faltering. If anyone but Kurt catches it, he doesn’t know but they don’t comment – at least not before Finn pulls her close, arm around her waist.

“We play _plenty_ , don’t worry,” Finn sticks his tongue out at Santana.

“Ugh! Gross!”

“Well, I propose a toast,” Mike grins from where he’s sitting with Tina’s head on his shoulder, “To a new generation, born to a better world!”

“And to the generation that fought for it!” Elliott offers.

“Yeah, man, I wasn’t going to say anything, cuz it’d sound a little conceited, but…” Sam mumbles and everyone laughs some more.

Emma sighs fondly and gives them all a happy smile as she raises her glass, “To those we lost, and to those yet to come.”

“To Milly Rose!”

They toast and settle happily back into conversation, some of it all together, some of it private, but most of it cheerful and alive. Finn kissing Rachel’s neck until she’s giggling again and trying to bat him away. Santana letting her eyes settle more than once on Dani and accepting a new drink from her with lingering fingers. Sam yanking at Tina until she’s helping him demonstrate the craziest kind of dance, while Mike, Artie and Mercedes clap and sing the silliest song known to mankind. Wes and David shaking their heads and announcing that everything about Sam’s dancing was wrong and proceeding to show them the proper moves. Sebastian teasing Elliott about something that makes him blush and hide his face away. Emma enamored with the thought of Quinn’s soon to be growing belly. Puck pouring everyone a shot of something disturbingly strong.

Kurt twists slightly in Blaine’s arms, just enough so he can look at him.

“You okay?” He brushes his thumb right under Blaine’s eyes, where they still bear the marks of a difficult day.

Blaine’s smile is small but genuine as he nods, “I’m more than okay, love.”

“Good,” Kurt breathes.

Blaine runs tender fingertips over Kurt’s cheekbones, trails the shell of his year and then follows the fabric of the old, worn baseball cap. “Are _you_ okay?”

Kurt considers it for a moment before he beams back and nods, “Definitely more than okay.”

“Good.” Blaine chuckles, and presses a kiss to the curve of Kurt’s jaw, “So we’re doing good.”

“We’re doing great.”


End file.
